Resident Evil: Private Wars
by CapnHannahSolo
Summary: Jill Valentine returns to the States with complications from the P30 drug. Chris Redfield takes on the task of helping her recuperate, however, hidden feelings he has been burying for 10 years are awakened in the process. Will they be together or will the partnership implode on itself? . . . And will Claire Redfield stay a redhead? If you ship like I ship, then we all right.


Chris Redfield was called into the head physician's office in the United States BSAA headquarters, and he made himself comfortable in the large, black leather chair. By this time, he was on the first name basis with the doctor having been sewn and mended by him several times in the recent years. This visit, however, was not about Chris' health, but that of his partner, Jill Valentine, who had arrived with him weeks earlier from Africa. For the few days Chris and Jill had been in the west African headquarters of the BSAA, Jill had struggled with fatigue and recurring nightmares as her body was going through the withdrawals of the drug, P-30, that has been forced into her system constantly via a pump placed onto her chest by Albert Wesker, the former head of the Umbrella pharmaceutical company, and Chris Redfield's arch nemesis. Now that Chris and his partner were back in the states, Jill continued to struggle and had remained in the BSAA hospital wing with Chris being either by her side or the doctors' through all of it.

Presently the head physician, Dr. Hershel Rosenthal, a man of his sixties, entered his office through a side door and made his way to his desk. "Good morning, Chris," he greeted politely.

"What's up, Doc?"

The doctor was perceptive enough to find the anxious note in Chris' flippant reply.

"Oh, nothing serious," rejoined Dr. Rosenthal. "Just a personal yet medical matter we need to address."

"Okay." Chris was still somewhat anxious despite the other's comforting, dulcet tones.

"Your partner seems to be recovering steadily from her withdrawal symptoms, which, with this case, is all we can ask for not knowing exactly what this P-30 drug is specifically made of. There's no telling how long this will actually take, so steady progress is good progress, and her vitals are not a concern for us. There is something that does concern me though, and that is Jill appears to be becoming progressively more depressed the longer she stays here. This is not a surprise considering all the stress her body has been through as you can see from the pigment changes in her hair, skin, and eyes, however, depression will slow down the healing process."

"So what do you want to do?"

Dr. Rosenthal squinted his eyes in thought, but barely hesitated. "I certainly don't want to prescribe any anti-depressants unless we absolutely have to seeing as that we don't know how they will react with the remnants of the P-30. For the time being, I'm thinking that a change of scenery might be in order."

"How do you figure?" asked Chris.

"Well, nobody can really relax in a hospital unless they're on pain meds and have no choice," said the doctor smiling, "and rest is exactly what Jill needs. . . . Well, that and a little TLC."

Chris raised an eyebrow.

"Which brings me to another matter," continued the doctor. "Does Jill have any family that she might be able to stay with – someone who'll take care of her?"

Chris thought a moment. The only family he knew of was Jill's mother, a woman not worthy of the title except in a biological sense. "Not really," he said shifting in his seat.

"Hm. That's what I thought," rejoined Dr. Rosenthal. "She has you listed as next of kin."

"Yeah, well, she doesn't have any siblings," said Chris as he suddenly felt a little uncomfortable due to many unconscious and repressed emotions all having something to do with his ailing partner. He never liked to think about how in this world, he was all she had, especially since the incident at the Spencer Estate three years ago. The guilt was palpable when he let his guard down.

"Oh well, then," said the doctor with finality. "This is an imposition one can really only ask family to –"

"Don't worry about it, Doc," interrupted Chris. "Jill and I are basically family anyway. I'll take good care of her."

"Oh, excellent," replied Dr. Rosenthal happily. "I'll discharge her within the week."

When Chris Redfield left the doctor's office, instead of making his usual course to his partner's room, he went straight home; he had much work to do.

About a week later, Dr. Rosenthal had just left Jill Valentine's room before Chris made his way in. He found Jill sitting up in her bed and staring out the window into the fading sunlight. She turned her head to face him when she evidently heard someone enter the room.

"Hey, stranger," she said with some of her usual zest missing from her voice.

Her greeting took Chris off guard before he remembered that whereas he had still seen her every day that past week, she hadn't known he was there since he had only taken night watch over her, spending the night in the chair beside her bed. He had spent the days preparing for her discharge. Chris didn't feel like explaining his actual vigilance to Jill for reasons he never wished to acknowledge, so he let her believe in her impression for the time being.

"Hey, kid. How ya feelin'?" he asked in a quiet, soft tone, feeling nearly guilty for not telling her where he had been.

"The same, I guess," she replied looking back out the window. "They want to discharge me. . . ."

Jill left her last statement hanging in the air, and Chris could feel her uneasiness . . . either that or he was confusing it for his own. "Well, that's a good thing," he stated trying to change the note in the air into a positive one.

"I guess," started Jill. "But I don't have anywhere to go. I'm sure my apartment isn't there anymore; no one there to pay rent for three years. I suppose I can stay in the barracks until I find something –" she turned her head and stopped in mid-thought as she found her partner taking her things from the room's drawers and placing them into a suitcase. "Chris, what are you doing?"

"Getting you packed to come home."

"'Come home'?" Jill was obviously confused. "I have a home to come to?"

"Uh . . . yeah," replied Chris, not thinking about why he was stalling in telling her. "Mine."

"Yours?"

"Is that so bad?" rejoined Chris in a nearly challenging, but far from angry tone.

". . . Well . . . no," began Jill.

But her partner was afraid to let her finish for reasons unknown to him, and he cut her off. "You better get dressed then 'cause I'll have you all packed in a couple minutes."

". . . okay . . . ." Jill was still confused and it was apparent in her voice. She couldn't quite put her finger on it, but her partner was acting strangely even for him, but since she couldn't place it, she dismissed it. Jill removed herself from her bed and took some clothes with her into the bathroom to change from her pajamas.

Chris watched her carefully, and convinced himself that it was only because he was being protective of his recovering partner.

Within the hour, Jill and Chris were exiting the BSAA headquarters hospital compound with Chris carrying all of Jill's belongings except for a few floral bouquets that were still alive, given to her by members of the BSAA. The flowers were the only items Chris would allow her to carry, and there had been a slight quarrel about that previously, but Jill had soon learned that over the three years she was away, her partner's stubbornness had only increased regarding particular matters.

Chris threw Jill's things into the Hummer, and Jill took one last look at the hospital. It wasn't as though she believed she would miss the place, but she had a peculiar feeling about where she was going next. It wasn't as though she didn't trust her partner of ten years; it wasn't as though she hadn't missed him, but something was different in his demeanor toward her. It was as though Chris had somehow, within the past week or so, become nervous around her like a child being handed a Ming vase and told not to drop it in an earthquake. Jill supposed she couldn't blame him. In the past few weeks she'd shown a much more fragile side having black-outs, fainting spells, physical weakness, and fatigue, but she did not like the worried look on her partner's face when she was having a bad day with such symptoms, and she wasn't sure if she liked the idea of leaving it up to him to coddle her, whether she needed it or not. In fact, Jill Valentine wasn't sure if she was even prepared to see that side of Chris being directed at her.

"Jill." Her partner's voice awakened her from her anxieties, and she turned toward the Hummer to get into it with him.

Most of the familiar ride to Chris' apartment was a quiet one as Jill kept most of her attention out the window. The time she was away had been forgiving in the aspect that most of the sites she'd grown used to were still there, which lent her a comforting feeling of stability. She had many questions to ask Chris, but didn't know how to voice them so she didn't. In a way, Jill was glad when she found herself looking around the Hummer's interior to find an unpleasing small, white, cylindrical object poking out of the vehicle's ashtray.

"Chris!" she chided, pulling the filter from the tray. "When did you start smoking again?"

"Dammit!" came Chris, almost sheepishly looking out his window. "I . . . didn't . . . I mean – I did start, but I quit again!"

"How long ago?"

"Well, you remember I never smoke on missions. I haven't had one since Africa, and I wasn't going to start again."

"You swear?"

"I swear!"

"You better not start smoking again, Chris Redfield," warned Jill. "'Cause I won't let you smoke inside. You'll smoke outdoors, rain or shine, warm or below freezing – you got that?"

"Yes, ma'am," replied Chris almost smiling to hear some of his partner's feistiness return. He was happy to have helped.

It had been some time since Jill had been inside Chris' apartment, but she was already aware upon entering that it was drastically different than the last time she had been in it. It took her several moments to realize that many of the articles that hadn't been there before, were still very familiar, and then she recognized them as her own belongings from her own apartment when she still had one.

Chris had just set down Jill's suitcases when she asked, "You kept all my stuff?"

"Well . . . yeah. I mean, I had to get it out of storage this week, but it's all here – around here someplace."

She wasn't sure what to think of this. Jill had been told that she was assumed dead after a certain amount of time had passed after her disappearance, which was standard procedure. She knew that her apartment would have been rented out to new tenants surely, but the fact that someone had kept her things in storage for her was nearly as ludicrous as it was touching. With her being assumed dead, and rightly so especially in the way it had happened, what reason would anyone have to hold on to her things?

While Jill stood there puzzling, Chris took the flowers from her, and then took her by the wrist. "You haven't seen the best part yet," he said and pulled her with him.

Chris lead Jill down the main hallway and turned into what used to be Chris' office, but what she found was another bedroom, decorated in more of her things, arranged in a way very similar to how her own bedroom had been. Jill couldn't help but gape slightly, trying to allow words to escape, but not being able to find the right ones.

"Claire's been in town for a while," said Chris. "She helped me arrange everything in here. I wanted a feminine touch 'cause I sure as hell don't know to do those things."

"That's okay," was all Jill could find to say.

"I'm going to put these in water," said Chris, and he left her alone in her old room in a new apartment.

Jill walked over to the bed and sat down, kicking her shoes off, trying to make herself comfortable. Sitting on her pillows was a stuffed bear that she'd had for years that was wearing a little beret and a STARS uniform. She slowly picked it up and hugged it, barely believing that it still existed. Jill lied down on the bed and soon realized that it was her own bed, covered in very familiar clean sheets and a thick blue comforter. So many times in the past three years, Jill had believed that she never would have the opportunity to see and feel these consoling things again. So many times in the past three years had Jill longed to be able to appreciate these warm sights and sensations through so much of the cruelty she'd been forced to endure. Remembering this thought, Jill became a little emotional, and tears began to streak down her face.

"Hey, Jill," called Chris returning from the hallway, "do you wanna –" but he stopped upon seeing her on the bed. He slowly walked over and found that she had fallen asleep, and he was pleased. Before, he had been nervous that she wouldn't want to live with him - that she would find it strange even though they knew each other so well, but with all that she'd been through, maybe she felt differently about things. He couldn't guess her feelings, but he would try to be as sensitive as he could to her needs for her sake. Seeing her lying on her bed and having fallen asleep so quickly, he took it as a sign that she accepted his apartment as her new home, and that made him feel good.

Chris reached down by the end of bed where Claire had placed one of Jill's quilts and gingerly pulled it over his partner so she wouldn't get cold, and he was nearly overcome again with the relief that she was finally home alive and safe.

He didn't go to bed, but stayed awake most of the night on the living room sofa to make sure that if Jill needed anything, he'd be there to get it for her.

The following morning, Jill awoke to the smell of breakfast cooking and remembered that she was no longer in the BSAA hospital. She looked around her new room, but this time instead of anxiety mixed with apprehension, she felt deeply thankful – thankful to be out of the hospital, thankful to be back home in the states, thankful to be alive. She removed the quilt from herself, not remembering that she hadn't placed it there, and went toward the kitchen, which was where she found Chris.

"Morning, Roomy," he greeted cheerfully. "Breakfast is almost done."

Jill looked at the clock on the stove and saw that it was after nine. "Chris, why aren't you at headquarters?"

"Headquarters? You kidding? You think somebody finally drops Albert Wesker in a volcano and they don't give the guy an extended vacation?"

"But that was weeks ago. How much vacation did they give you?"

"Well, not as much as all that," he replied. "I just didn't take it until now. Someone's got to look after Agent Valentine."

"I'm fine. They wouldn't have discharged me if I wasn't," she pointed out.

"Yeah?" came Chris in an unconvinced tone as he licked some egg off his thumb. "Tell that to the pale face in the mirror."

"All right, all right," recanted Jill. "I still feel pretty run-down, but I should be okay in a few days or less." She left the doorway and began to walk back down the hall.

"We'll see about that," muttered Chris to himself as he knew his partner better than that. Upon the words leaving his mouth, he remembered something. Reaching into the back pocket of his jeans, he pulled out the prescription that Dr. Rosenthal had given him to fill out for Jill. He tacked it onto the refrigerator with a magnet. "Hey, Jill," he called from the kitchen. "Do you wanna shower before you eat? I can stick this in the oven to keep warm or something."

"A shower would be wonderful," was her return.

"Claire and I fixed up the big one for ya."

Jill walked into the larger of the two bathrooms in the apartment and clearly found it furnished with feminine towels, curtains, and products. Everything she needed of a bathroom was already set up and waiting for her.

Chris stepped into the entrance of the room and leaned on the doorjamb. "Yeah, we didn't know what kind of stuff you liked so Claire picked out a lot of her favorites and guessed at the rest."

"No, that's fine," replied Jill, standing on the rim of being touched again. She quickly changed the subject. "You're not using this bathroom?"

"Nah, I don't need all this space. Hardly used it anyway. Figured you like the option to take a bath whenever you wanted."

"Where is Claire?" Jill was trying to keep the conversation going so she wouldn't tear up again. She also was trying not to face the mirror.

"You'll see her later. She's helping me get your car out of storage . . . that is, if you don't mind being alone for a little bit this afternoon."

"Why would I mind?"

Chris shrugged and left Jill alone with her reflection. "Just let me know if you need anything," he called.

After deciding that she didn't need anything else, Jill closed the bathroom door. She prepared her shower and readied her accoutrement without the assistance of the bathroom mirror, which she preferred not be there in the first place. However, she couldn't escape it once she was done in the shower and drying off her hair, which she also tried to ignore even while it was in her hands. Being fully aware that this avoidance was silly since it wasn't going away any time soon, and she certainly couldn't renounce mirrors for the rest of her life, Jill resolutely picked up a comb to fix her hair, pretending to herself that nothing was wrong, and looked directly into her own reflection.

It has been easier in the hospital. No one really cared if she looked sick; it was actually the most appropriate look. However, in the bright bathroom light in the reality of the outside world, she couldn't forget her appearance anymore. Jill lifted the comb to her once chestnut tresses with red undertones that flirted with the light that were now bleached with a hue she didn't recognize on herself. She quickly began to comb through the strands that barely felt like her own all the while trying very hard to not think of how they lost their natural pigmentation. Jill had nearly succeeded in finishing the task when she accidentally caught her own eye in the mirror . . . but the eye that looked back into hers really wasn't hers. Her eyes were a bright sky blue, but these eyes, looking back at her could only envy the color her eyes had once been. The blue that her eyes now held was dull and barely present, substituting nearly a pale grey in much of its place. And then suddenly, while facing these changes that were unfamiliar to her in this setting, Jill Valentine didn't feel like herself, but like the pawn of Albert Wesker, administering a plague around Africa to poor innocent people who hadn't the power to fight her back. And with that memory came the memory of feeling scared and powerless, never knowing when the next round of experimentation and testing the limits of P-30 on her body would begin or how much it would hurt.

Jill broke down and began crying. She tried to tell herself that reacting this way was ludicrous, she was home now and no longer Wesker's monster, however, that thought did little to suppress the guilt she felt from the lives she took under the madman's control. She couldn't bring the crying under control no matter how hard she tried. Jill grabbed her towel and stifled her sobs into it, not wanting Chris to hear.

From outside the bathroom, in the kitchen, Chris' instincts told him something was wrong. The air had changed, and he picked up his head to listen. Hearing nothing, but still feeling uneasy, he moved to the main hallway to see the door to Jill's room quickly close. He nearly went to investigate, but figured he should let his partner get some clothes on first. Chris felt that he was being paranoid and went back into the kitchen. He told himself that if something really was wrong with Jill Valentine, she had nowhere and nothing to hide from him.

From the time Jill came back into the kitchen and all throughout breakfast, she was much more reserved than she had been earlier that morning. Chris asked her if anything was wrong, but she only replied that she was feeling very tired, and her partner found it hard to argue as she actually looked paler and her eyes were glassy. When she was done eating, Jill asked if she could help Chris with the dishes, but he refused her help and told her to go to bed. She was thankful that she wouldn't have to dam her tears from his view any longer, and returned to her room where she could relieve herself from the welling of tears and not allow Chris to be the wiser. She believed she had succeeded in keeping him from suspecting anything to worry about, but she had only fooled herself. Chris, however, had a nagging feeling that she was hiding something, but logically this didn't add up. He left her to her privacy against his better instincts.

Later that day, Chris was leaving the apartment with car keys in hand, making his way toward his Hummer when he saw his younger sister, Claire Redfield, a plucky woman in her late twenties who'd seen her share of zombified horrors and was sometimes a redhead, walking toward him and in the direction of his apartment.

"Sis!" he called with over emphasized joy that he never intended to sound remotely convincing. "I almost didn't recognize you with your midriff covered!"

"Hey, Chris," she replied and tried to move past him, but without missing a step, her much bigger brother caught her by the arm and practically yanked her off her feet to be pulled along with him toward the Hummer. "Chris! I want to see Jill!"

"Nope. You're leaving her alone. She's too tired for your nonsense."

"Chris!"

But Claire's vocal protests didn't have the strength to free her from Chris' grasp or coerce him to take her to Jill. Before she knew it, she was practically tossed into the Hummer with the door closing on her and her brother then entering on the driver's side.

While on their way to the storage garage, it had taken a few minutes before Claire began to forget being irritated with her brother and gave into asking questions.

"How is she doing? Is she doing any better than when she was in the hospital?" She noticed her brother shift in his seat. She wasn't sure if this was an uncomfortable reaction, or if it done in earnest.

"Hard to say," he replied.

"Well, does she like the apartment?"

"I don't know."

"Did she say anything? What did she say when you brought her home?"

"Geez, Claire, I didn't know you had joined forces with the Spanish Inquisition," rejoined an irked Chris.

"Well, you're not saying much! And what's eating _you_ anyway? I never need to grill you like this!"

"I don't know," he replied more quietly. "Guess I'm worried about her, is all."

Claire calmed herself down to her usual caring self without the antagonism of older brothers and sincerely asked, "What's going on?"

He shrugged. "I guess I thought once I got her home she might be okay again."

"Well, didn't the doctor say that it's typical for a person to be depressed after being sick for a long time?" offered Claire. "I mean . . . especially all she has been through –"

"I know. I know!" said Chris, cutting her off. As much as he would have liked to, he still couldn't hide his feelings or pretend that he wasn't bothered by the whole situation more than he was for reasons he couldn't reconcile.

Claire Redfield knew her brother better than that, and beside that fact, the job she took as a bio-tragedy counselor gave her good practice in learning how to read people. "What's really going on, Chris? I know you're willing to do whatever it takes to get Jill healthy again, and you're generally more patient with her than this."

"Who said something else was going on?"

As Chris' sister, Claire wanted to get really aggravated with him just then, but reverted back to counselor mode masking her words with the casual air of a little sister because her brother was too perceptive for even the subtle manipulation for answers. "You. Your actions. You're acting like . . . you're mad at yourself, or something."

He generally didn't keep secrets from his sister, but Chris was still quiet for a moment before he answered. "I guess I could be."

"Why?"

He looked out the side window briefly before returning his eyes to the front of the Hummer, and made sure that he wouldn't look back at his sister so she wouldn't see how freshly his emotions were churning. "You know . . . " he began, "when Jill threw herself at Wesker, knowing that they were going to crash through that window just to save me, she probably figured she was going to die, but . . . dying would have been easy. She didn't figure on him saving her life just to experiment on her and control her mind. . . . She was tortured for three years, Claire."

She wasn't sure where her brother was going with this, but she didn't like the feeling she was getting in her gut about it. "And how does that link back to now?"

"I can't help but wonder . . . if during all that time she was going through all that, if she ever thought . . . it wasn't worth it."

"You mean . . . as in, she thought it wasn't worth it saving you?" His silence was all the confirmation Claire needed. "Chris, you can't go there. She's been your partner for ten years, and the two of you have been to hell and back together! I'm sure that never even crossed her mind."

"You can't know that," returned Chris quickly. "Can you look me in the eye and honestly tell me that even after being tortured for three years all because you tried to save someone's life you could keep the rosy disposition that it was all worth it just because that person was still alive?"

Claire sighed uneasily. "I guess that would depend on the person I did it for."

But Chris just shook his head. "I can never make that up to her, Claire."

"I think you should talk to her."

"And say what?" Frustration and anger was seeping into his voice again. "Do you think she could honestly answer that question to my face?"

"If she believed it was worth it."

He scoffed. "Yeah . . . exactly."

It was at this point they had reached the storage facility and Chris was soon parking the Hummer near the garages. Claire couldn't help but be relieved that their ride together was over as she was all out of encouraging words for him that couldn't be proven false.

When the Redfield siblings returned from the storage facility with Claire in the Hummer and Chris driving Jill's car, Claire had thought to remind him of some pleasant memories in their childhood that usually involved some mischief on Chris' part toward an authority figure, like Uncle Rod, who'd had a drinking problem, but was surly and arrogant even when sober. Claire was reminding him of the time when Chris had glued a penny to the kitchen floor before Uncle Rod had come stumbling in. The bad-tempered drunkard had seen the penny and couldn't resist its glinting, coppery sheen. From that moment on, terribly uncoordinated, drunken hilarity ensued for twenty minutes that summer afternoon. Claire had gotten Chris laughing, which had been her aim to get him away from meditating on his guilt about Jill. In fact, they were laughing when they entered the apartment.

" . . . And then the poor bastard dies of liver failure," came Chris jovially as they came in the door.

"I know!" cried Claire with tears invoked by laughter in her eyes.

Jill quietly appeared in the hallway to greet the Redfield siblings, smiling meekly because she felt too tired to put much strength into it. "How'd it go?" she asked.

"Jill!" Claire rushed over to Chris' partner to embrace her with a sisterly hug.

"Easy, Claire," warned her brother.

But Claire just ignored him knowing his overprotective tendencies especially now. "How're you feeling?"

"Better," replied Jill happy to see the other as well.

"I hope Chris is taking good care of you," said Claire adopting a stern tone. She knew what Jill's answer would be, but she knew her brother needed to hear it directly from his partner's lips.

But Chris' fear wouldn't let Jill answer. "Damn straight, I am," he quickly asserted before she could respond. He unceremoniously threw his keys into a bowl sitting on a corner table halfway across the room.

Claire could only roll her eyes at her brother's onset of insecurity. She knew beyond reasonable doubt that he was taking very good care of his partner, and that Jill knew that even better than she did. If Chris' fear hadn't gotten in his way, Claire was positive that Jill's answer would have bolstered him.

With Chris having answered the question for her, Jill just smiled. "How's the car?" she asked, trying to make conversation to take attention away from herself.

"Needs a little maintenance," replied Chris, "but nothing I can't handle myself."

"Geez," rejoined Claire facetiously. "So macho."

"What did you say, little sister?" challenged Chris.

Claire turned from Jill to face her older sibling. "I called you 'macho', you big ape."

"Is that right?" He started coming nearer.

"Yeah," asserted the smaller Redfield. "Why don't you go find a shady spot and scratch yourself!"

"I'll scratch myself in the damn sunshine if I like!" replied Chris in a mock growl, and he threw a big arm around his sister's neck to drag her down to the appropriate height for a noogie. Claire was struggling, but she hadn't the brute force to fight the arm or the intense friction applied via fist to the top of her head. She was squealing, laughing, and begging Chris to stop before she just managed to wriggle herself free.

"Ow!" she exclaimed rubbing the top of her head. "You're such a bully, Chris. All because you're bigger than everybody else!"

"That doesn't matter," said Jill with a sly smile. "You just have to know what his weaknesses are."

"What?" came Chris.

Claire couldn't help but note the slight look of alarm that flashed in her brother's eye as Jill turned toward him. She had suspicion that little Jill Valentine was about to school the large Chris Redfield, and she wanted to see how.

"So you like picking on girls, huh, Redfield?" challenged Jill as she began to advance.

"Wait a minute now," said Chris putting his hands up to try to placate his partner, but she had backed him against a wall, and he had nowhere to go. To Claire it looked like rabbit cornering a bear. Jill's deft fingers shot forward and began tickling him in his muscular sides. He resisted laughing with all his might. "Jill!"

"You should be nice to your little sister!" she jokingly chided. "You're so much bigger than she is!"

As Chris tried to grab Jill's hands, they only seemed to dematerialize and rematerialize somewhere else on his body. No matter how fast he moved, she was even faster. "C'mon, Jill!"

"It'll just be easier if you laugh, Redfield!" she said laughing.

"Get 'im, Jill!" cried Claire from the stands. Although she was enjoying this immensely, she could still make the observation that Chris was being very careful not to hurt his longtime companion where she knew he would not be nearly so cautious with her.

Jill's fingers were finding places that Chris didn't even know were ticklish. He found that even he was getting tired trying to tense up which ever area she flew to next to keep her from getting the edge. He knew that if he laughed, it would be all over. But finally, he spotted his opportunity. Before Valentine could react, Chris wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close, pinning her arms to her sides and her up against him. "C'mon, Jill," he said softly even as he regained his breath. "I don't want you to get hurt."

Claire's eyes grew wide as the scene clicked something in her brain, and she suddenly began to feel like an interloper. With the gentle but firm way her brother held onto Jill and the tender look in his eyes when speaking to her, the picture looked wrong in context yet too perfect in its composition. While its subjects were too close to the situation to know it, the beholder didn't have to use much imagination to recognize the intangible intimation.

Jill didn't notice what Claire did and was still laughing as she looked up at her captor. "You're hardly a threat to me, Chris Redfield," she said catching her breath.

Claire knew that Jill had misinterpreted Chris' words, but she was afraid to say anything as it had nearly seemed like they forgot she was there. She watched Chris as he slowly, and what almost looked reluctantly, let go of Jill. With the words her brother had said to her earlier still swimming in her subconscious, the younger Redfield knew her older sibling well enough to realize that Chris had no idea of what the unconscious and perhaps repressed promptings of his own mind and body had confessed to her.

"Well, I'm famished!" exclaimed Claire needing to break the tension only she recognized for her brother's sake. She was afraid of what it would do to him if he ever found out what he was really thinking. It was then Claire felt sorry for him, realizing that her poor, stupid man of a brother had spent the last three years to a decade lying to himself and believing it unconditionally because the truth would have destroyed something almost as precious.

"Hey, I got a nutty idea," said Chris with a complete change in tone. He turned to Jill. "You feel well enough to go out for some Chinese?"

The other lit up at the mention of the Eastern cuisine, not just because she liked it, but also because of the implications that only meant something between the two of them. "I would love to go out for Chinese, Chris!"

"Who wouldn't with my brother's cooking," came Claire dryly and unfortunately unaware of the meaning behind Chris' question.

"You've never taken her?" asked Jill with slight disbelief.

"Not until now," said Chris.

"Taken me where?"

"I'm going to put some clothes on," said Jill, who was still wearing pajamas having needed to stay in bed most of the day. She disappeared back into her bedroom to change.

"For Chinese," stated Chris.

Claire was confused.

Moments later, after Jill had gotten changed, the two Redfields accompanied by a Valentine were getting into Chris' Hummer with Chris sternly enforcing to Claire that Jill had to ride shotgun and Claire, who was well aware of the rules, sticking her tongue out at her brother. Claire had figured that _obviously_ Chris would be driving them to some Chinese restaurant that held some significance to the two partners; however, she had no idea that this particular restaurant could possibly be the China 8 Buffet.

China 8 Buffet looked to be potentially a whole-in-wall place sandwiched between a barbershop and a beauty supply store in a low profile strip mall. The story behind its significance was such that years ago, Chris and Jill had been parked for some forgotten reason within the strip mall's parking lot when Chris asked Jill who in their wildest dreams would name a restaurant "China 8 Buffet". He pointed out that most Chinese restaurants were named "Something Garden", "Something Wind," or even classically "Panda Something Something". Hell, he'd even said, naming the place "Panda Wind" would have made more sense than "China 8 Buffet" albeit not sound very appetizing. Jill had agreed with these statements and even pointed out that if there was a China 8 Buffet, then where were the seven other China Buffets? And if there weren't any, then why start with the eighth one? Chris said he didn't know, and for several moments they stared at the place until Chris determined that they absolutely had to eat there just once to try to solve the mystery, and from that day forward they were glad they did for although the China 8 Buffet had the strangest name amongst all its counterparts, it was the best Chinese food Chris Redfield and Jill Valentine had ever had. Over the next several years, they had patronized the place often, and even became acquainted with the family who owned it, the Leungs.

Master Leung had brought his family with him to the states from China to give his family something better than communism. At that time, his daughter had been a teenager, and only about a decade or so later, she had gotten married and had children of her own who were now young adults. Nearly everyone in the Leung family now worked in Master Leung's restaurant. The children of his daughter, Bobbie and Sam, generally waited tables while Mrs. Leung and her daughter, Jing-Wei, ran the register. Master Leung, who was in his seventies now, was rarely ever seen.

Upon entering the China 8 Buffet, it was Jing-Wei who found the Redfields and Ms. Valentine, and she was very happy to see them.

"Oh, Mr. Redfield!" cried Jing-Wei reaching up to place her hands momentarily on his face. "It's been so long since you've been in to see us!"

At the mention of Chris, Bobbie, a spritely, sixteen year old girl, bounced up behind her mother to make sure she'd heard the news right. "Hi, Chris! Where's Jill?"

"Right here," said Jill, who was in fact standing next to him.

"Oh Jill! We didn't recognize you," replied Jing-Wei. "Did you dye your hair?"

For a split moment, being in familiar surroundings, Jill had forgotten the past three years and the liberties they had taken with her appearance. She smiled bravely although tears stung the back of her eyes. "Yeah . . . I did."

Claire noticed Chris' hand come up behind Jill and place itself supportively on the small of her back. She was glad that her brother was responsive to his partner's feelings, but then again, she really couldn't have expected less from the bond they shared.

"And this is my sister, Claire," said Chris partially turning behind him to gesture toward her.

"Hi there," she replied waving from behind her brother and Jill.

"Nice to meet you," said Jing-Wei happily, and she motioned for them to follow her to their booth.

"Chris never told us he had a sister," stated Bobbie as they passed her.

"I'm not surprised," said Claire with a devious smile, looking back at the girl.

The patrons sat down in their seats with Claire on one side of the table and Jill and Chris on the other with Jill sitting on the inside. Chris apparently needed to spread out as he placed his inside arm on the top of the back of the booth over Jill. Even this action didn't escape Claire, but she tried not to think too much about it other than it was possibly more of this mounting evidence she was beginning to collate.

Bobbie came up to take their orders. "Let me guess," she said pointing at Jill with her pencil, "Chicken and broccoli." Jill nodded as Bobbie wrote it down. "And for Chris," she said still writing, "the kung pao chicken."

"Yep."

"How spicy do you want that?"

"Who's cooking today?" he asked.

"Sam," she answered.

"Better make it medium, then."

Bobbie took down the information on her order slip and then turned to Claire. "And for Chris' sister?"

"Sweet and sour chicken," replied the other.

Bobbie wrote this down and then took the menus. "I'll be back soon with your order," she said smiling brightly.

"Wow," said Claire. "You guys must come here a lot."

"Definitely enough," said Chris.

"I wonder if the Master is in today," said Jill.

Chris took his arm down from over Jill and began to fiddle with his chopsticks almost nervously. "I wonder if he's still alive."

Nearly no sooner had Chris finished his statement when the uncompromising Master Leung made his way over to the party of three. Although he was slightly hunched over along with being small in stature, walked with a mild limp from arthritis, and spoke in broken English, he was a man to be reckoned with when in his own establishment as seemingly illustrated by the impressively ornate dragon head that topped his walking stick.

"Chris Redfield!" came the master with a stern tone. "Do you know how long it has been since you walked into my restaurant?"

"Uh . . ."

"Three years two months and three weeks!" informed Master Leung impertinently. "Why you no come for so long? My food not good?"

"Well, no," stuttered Chris. "I had a lot of business to attend to."

"For three years?!" rejoined Leung incredulously.

Chris couldn't bring himself to tell the old master the truth. When Jill had gone missing and presumed dead, it had been too hard for Chris to even order out from the China 8 Buffet. Explaining everything that had happened since he and Jill had last stepped into the place would be too emotionally taxing.

"Well –" stammered Chris, but Master Leung cut him off.

"I have more bone to pick with you! You marry Jill yet?"

"No, Master Leung –"

"Why not? It been three years two months and three weeks, and you still not marry her?!"

"She's my partner. We work together. We're not –"

But again Master Leung would not let him finish. "You need to make an honest woman out of her! Why you keep her waiting so long?"

"We're partners, not–"

"I no want to hear excuses, Mr. Redfield! You take her to justice of the peace and marry Jill now!"

Chris looked down at the table and relented realizing that he was not going to win this onslaught from so tenacious a foe. Ever since he and Jill had began coming to the China 8 Buffet, Master Leung had made it his mission in life to heckle Chris Redfield into becoming a respectable member of society and make Jill Valentine his wife. For years it did Chris no good every time he tried explaining in every way possible that Jill was his partner, not his girlfriend. Even Jing-Wei, Bobbie, and Mrs. Leung had tried to help him in explaining it, but to no avail. "All right, Master Leung. I'll marry her."

"Promise me!"

"I promise," came the BSAA agent who destroyed Albert Wesker but just could not defeat an aged Chinese man.

"Good! When's the date? You wait too long already."

"Two and a half weeks," he replied with the first increment of time that came into his head.

"Good," said Master Leung with finality. "Congratulations." And the old master left having finally broken some sense into his longtime customer as well as achieving order where there was once chaos.

"Thanks," said Chris putting his head down on the table.

"That was awesome!" said Claire who had thoroughly enjoyed the whole spectacle immensely.

Bobbie came springing up to the table, wide-eyed and very excited. "Oh my gosh. I didn't know you two were engaged!"

Chris moaned.

"What's wrong?" asked the young girl.

Jill nonchalantly wrapped an arm around Chris' and with the arm closest to him, placed a hand on his back and began to rub it comfortingly. "He's just so relieved that I said 'yes'," she said with a facetious smile.

Claire broke into laughter.

The rest of the evening was spent back at the apartment with a fair share of pleasant reminiscing about the good times where there were some. No one liked to admit that how much over the past ten years happy moments were just that and fleeting. However, they allowed themselves the liberty to reminisce because of the hope for the future with one of the biggest threats to humanity having been neutralized. This topic though, while known, was not discussed. But of the things that were, much laughter was present. Claire didn't say it, but it had been about three years since she'd seen her brother laugh or smile.

Eventually Claire went home and Jill said she was very tired so she went to bed, yet as Chris cleaned the kitchen from coffee mugs and the like, Jill did not go to sleep for quite a while. Somehow, the day with all that was good about it, increased her depression. Going to the China 8 Buffet and talking about the past reminded her of all the things that had changed her in the last three years. The last time she had gone out with Chris for Chinese food, or the last time she had done many of the things talked of that night, she had been a more innocent Jill Valentine. Since those things had happened, she couldn't help but remind herself of all the atrocities she committed on innocent people. Things she could not have fathomed committing for any reason. True, she had to recognize that she hadn't done these things of her own volition, and it wasn't as though she hadn't tried to fight the mind control either, however, these facts did little to console her. In her prayers, amidst a multitude of tears, she begged to be worthy of some forgiveness from the victims she made. Jill couldn't know for how long she cried, but she wouldn't remember the tears stopping before sleep found her that night.

And just as the night before, Chris Redfield slept on the couch not only in case Jill needed anything, but also for other reasons intimately involving her that he couldn't consciously know.

For the next few days, Jill had a more difficult time hiding her depression from Chris. The best she could do was stay in bed so he wouldn't see that she had been crying. Jill made sure to lie in bed facing away from the door so when she didn't answer his knocking and he opened it to make sure she was all right, he would think that she was only sleeping. She was even making the effort to wake before he did or fix her meals by herself when he wasn't around so she could avoid him. She was very thankful for the hours he spent fixing her car as it decreased the chances of her running into him.

But Jill Valentine had underestimated her partner's concern for her, and Chris was much more observant and aware than she gave him credit for when it came to her. In her current state with her change in demeanor, Chris began to alter his habits to so she couldn't avoid him and he could resume the task of taking care of her with the things he could. This also meant that she had to face his questions. However, every time he asked her if she was feeling all right, Jill would only smile in a sad, unconvincing way and insist that she was. And Chris was well aware that she was hiding things from him.

At first, he didn't believe that whatever she was hiding had anything to do with him, however, when he started to be more aggressive in his tactics, he began to think differently. The most influential of these tactics had come from his own intuition, and was inspired by the prescription Dr. Rosenthal had given him to fill. In gentle, noninvasive ways, Chris began to touch Jill. Mostly it was just by brushing his hand up against her back, hip, or arm in passing, and for a few days it caught Jill off guard, but it made her connect with him instead of running away. But after those few days, she was prepared for it, and she began to move away from his hand or as he came close, to promptly retreat to her room - the sanctuary where he had to respect her space. It was then that Chris' fears over Jill's sacrifice for him bared their fangs. He sought Claire's help as a bio-tragedy counselor.

When Claire answered the phone, she was in her office going over a case. Chris' ring from her cell phone jostled her from her concentration as her brother rarely called her at work.

"Hey, Chris. Everything okay?"

Her brother's voice was low but not a whisper, and she could clearly make out his angst. "Hey, Claire. Yeah, everything's okay."

"Doesn't exactly sound like it," she stated.

"Well, I was wondering if you could help me with Jill."

"What's wrong?"

Chris took a deep inhale before he answered her. "I don't know. She's been really depressed for the past several days . . . she won't tell me what's wrong."

"Have you tried talking to her?" The question seemed redundant to ask, but she often found in her job that people assumed the negative too much from those that cared about them. People often isolated themselves emotionally after a tragedy, believing they were alone. She could see it working both ways in her brother's and his partner's case. Tragedies had terrible rippling and resounding effects that couldn't physically be seen.

"She won't talk to me . . . . It's like she's hiding something from me – I don't know. She's never kept things from me before, at least, not that I know of."

"Where are you?"

"In my bedroom. Jill's asleep, or avoiding me. One of the two."

Claire's sympathy was going out to her brother. Rarely had she ever heard him sound this worried about anything. In fact, it sounded to her like he might have been fighting off his own bout of depression, not that he ever would have recognized it himself.

"I doubt she's avoiding you, Chris," rejoined Claire feeling like she was lying a little just to make him feel better. "I mean, the whole point of her being discharged was to help her through her depression. It'll probably just take her some time." Chris sighed uneasily, and Claire knew why. "Do you think she'd talk to me?"

"I don't know," he replied. "Maybe. She might feel more comfortable talking to you."

Even to Claire that last statement sounded odd. Jill and Chris were closer than she was with her own brother. For Jill to not come to Chris with anything _did_ make it sound as though he was the problem, and Claire knew that was exactly what her brother was afraid of.

"Okay, well," came Claire adopting a note of positivity in her voice to bolster Chris, "how about, if she's feeling up to it, I'll ask her if she'd like to hang out and do girl stuff with me. She might like that after being trapped in an apartment with a gross boy all the time. Do I have your permission to release her for half a day, Warden?"

"Yeah." Despite his best efforts, Chris couldn't help but still sound anxious.

Chris and Claire made plans for Jill for Saturday. They agreed that Claire would come by and take his ailing partner out for a little recreation of the feminine variety for Chris was no good to Jill when it came to such things. He hoped that whereas Jill was not talking to him, maybe she'd be open up to Claire. It felt foreign to him to have someone else try to get information out of her as he never had to resort to such methods before. His partner had always been very open with him, which was inevitable after so many years working in close quarters and defying life-threatening dangers. This was also the woman who nearly gave her life for him, and he would easily do the same for her, which was a fact made him needing to go through Claire to get to Jill feel all the more ridiculous and pathetic. He tried to resign himself to just be there for her if she needed him until Saturday and not pester her too much. But that was proving to be a challenge even down to his baser essence of being a man.

Although Chris was afraid that the reason for Jill's melancholy had anything to do with him and more pertinently what she did for him, seeing her so affected and not letting him in left Chris Redfield feeling inadequate and irrelevant – two things he had never been to Jill Valentine until this point.

Jill hadn't thought much about her having a girl's day out with Claire as being remotely out of place. In fact, she thought it would be much fun as she rarely had a chance to hang out with Chris' little sister without his presence. Even in the most loving contexts possible, there would be some freedom in that . . . of course, this was not to belie the fact that it would be a relief to be away from her partner so she wouldn't have to work so hard to hide herself and her feelings.

Like most recent mornings, Jill was very discriminatory with the time she chose to leave her bedroom to try to avoid Chris. In fact she would have liked to have stayed in her bedroom all morning until Claire came, but she found herself too hungry to wait. Although stealthy with her movements and barely making any noise, her partner, who'd been silently listening for sounds of movement emerging from her bedroom while hiding in his own, made his way down the hall to the kitchen to catch her. Chris wasn't entirely sure what he was going to do, however, the impulse to act had been eating away at him all morning for reasons that weren't altogether clear to him.

At first, when he entered, he adopted a very nonchalant, passive energy in hopes that she would get a false sense of security that he wasn't going to connect with her in some way, and the fact that he had to go about it in such means bothered him more than he could let on. He didn't know why or even how right he was in ascertaining this, but he was positive that she was definitely trying to keep her contact with him very minimal, and that she was making sure to keep herself at a distance from him further than arm's length. This time, instead of trying to talk to her initially, he would act as she did and barely acknowledge her. Chris knew that he could have made this very easy and just not engage her at all even with his own presence – to just stay in his room and give Jill her space, but that was something he couldn't bring himself to do. In fact, just the change in her energy from calm to alert that he felt rippling the atmosphere when he entered and passed by her was enough to provoke him. He tried to remain silent, but he couldn't.

"How'd you sleep last night?"

That was a loaded question. Jill had been crying most of the night again, and when she had gotten sleep, it was riddled with the faces of those she'd murdered with Wesker's plague. "Oh . . . fine, thanks." She quickly turned to leave, but her flippant answer had been too much for Chris to bear, and Jill felt his strong hand almost roughly grab her arm and pull her back to face him.

"Don't give me that! I heard you crying last night! Now, tell me what's going on!"

She wasn't sure if Chris had ever yelled at her like this. Jill couldn't decide if she should be indignant or scared. "I—I wasn't crying last night."

"Dammit, Jill! Don't lie to me!" Chris grabbed her other arm so she couldn't even turn away.

"Chris! Let me go!" Jill struggled a little, but she was held fast in his grip, and she hadn't much energy to fight him.

"How come you won't tell me anything?"

"Let me go, Chris!" came Jill with more force. She struggled to get out of his grip even more, but as she did so, he only seemed to pull her closer to him so she had less room to maneuver away from him.

"Jill, please! Tell me what's wrong."

"Nothing's wrong, Chris!" she yelled with tears burning her eyes. She threw his hands off herself as he finally gave up, letting her break away.

Chris Redfield stood there, and let her lie to him again, this time, realizing that she wasn't going to stop and knowing that he was going to have to get used to this new pain of hearing her lies that told of how she honestly distrusted him. He felt terrible for grabbing her like he had, but he had gotten desperate. He didn't understand why she was keeping away from him or why she insisted on driving this wedge between them, but whatever her reasons were, she wanted it there and was fighting to keep it in its place; he was going to have to live with it regardless of what he wanted.

". . . I'm sorry, Jill," he said quietly. His eyes were cast to the floor, but he was staring through it.

Jill didn't leave after she broke away from him, but stood there to catch her breath knowing that he was letting her go and she had nothing to fear from him. But doing this gave her the chance to actually look her partner in the face, and it was then she saw the hurt she had been causing him the past several days. She had never hid from Chris before, but she could only just bare this pain herself. She hadn't realized until now, what exactly this meant to him, to see her suffer, and not only keep it from him when he knew of it, but also to lie to him about it. Suddenly, looking into Chris' face since his eyes were looking through anything their sights laid, Jill felt the gravity of what she was doing to him, and how Wesker's control over her had caused her to do this too. The casualties hadn't stopped with the innocent lives in Africa, as now she was also destroying her relationship with the person she loved and trusted the most. With all the crying she had been doing since she'd come home, it was surprising to her that she had any tears left, but the new ones falling on her cheeks weren't for her guilt of her actions in Africa – they were purely for Chris.

"Oh, Chris." Her whisper was thick with guilt and sympathy. Jill brought herself close to her best friend and buried her face into his chest to cry.

Without saying a word, Chris brought his arms around her and caressed her gently in a secure embrace that asked for her forgiveness as much as it comforted her. He could feel her trembling with emotion. He waited.

After a few moments, Jill brought her arms around him, her slender fingers clutching tightly onto him, wrinkling his t-shirt. She pulled he her face from his chest to lay it on his shoulder. "Chris," she whispered again through sobs, "who am I anymore?" Although she was crying and overwhelmed by this feeling of loss that seemed to encompass everything she knew about reality, feeling her partner's arms around her, she somehow was beginning to feel better.

"Why don't you know?" he softly asked.

"Experimenting on me is one thing," she replied shakily. "But I've killed so many innocent people. I see their faces everyday in my mind."

"You didn't kill them, Jill. Wesker did."

"That's too easy to say. It's too easy to blame Wesker . . . He wasn't even there."

"But he was controlling you," returned Chris steadily.

"Sometimes I wonder if I could have fought against the mind control harder, " said Jill with more tears. "I want to say that I couldn't. That I'm blameless, but I can't really remember what it was like."

"Listen to me," came Chris gently, "I know you better than anyone, and I know beyond any shadow of a doubt that if you could have fought through that mind control to save those people, you would have."

"How can you know that?"

"Because that's who Jill Valentine is. She threw herself out a window to save her partner, . . . she travelled around the world to try to bring a madman to justice when there were very few people who believed Umbrella was behind a zombie infection, . . . she got herself infected while staying in an infested town just to look for survivors . . . . Jill Valentine is the type of person who can still be nice to her coworkers even after they call her a liar for saying that her Captain was behind the murders in the Arklay mountains, and she even gave them the excuse that she might feel that same way if the roles were reversed, when everyone who knows her also knows that she'd never be like that. Jill Valentine is the type of person who can unconsciously break a man's heart because he just realized that she's that nice to everyone. Jill Valentine protects her partner from his own impulsiveness when it would serve him right to get his ass kicked. She puts into practice random acts of kindness and forgets that she did them because they're as natural as breathing to her. She's the type of person that no matter how bad someone can seem, she can pull out their good points and magically turn them into something worth loving and makes it look effortless. That's just who she is."

"Oh, Chris." Jill wasn't sure if she believed everything she was hearing him say, but it was impossible for her to deny it because every word was true.

_Holy crap! _thought Claire Redfield, who had slipped into her older brother's apartment, and was hiding, crouched low, just outside the kitchen door in the hallway. The front door was open, and when she stepped in, she heard arguing which she thought she could break up until it turned into crying and whispering. She could barely see her brother holding his partner in a very close embrace. She had heard everything he'd said to Jill about who she was, and his speech had caused her to cry.

"I'm not surprised at all that Wesker wanted to control you and make you do horrible things," continued Chris. "It was the only way he could ever deny to himself the one piece of humanity that he knew that was too beautiful to destroy."

Claire rolled her eyes as a whole fresh batch of tears was burning them. She had no idea her brother could be so poetic. She peeked around the corner of the door as much as she dared to watch Jill lift her head to rest it against Chris' face as he nestled it into her hair. _C'mon, you ass!_ thought Claire forcefully. _You don't say something like that to a girl without making violent love to her next! Make your move! Now's not the time for repressing your dumb, man-feelings! _Claire became very still when she heard Jill begin to speak.

"Chris . . . ?" She was still whispering, but her trembling was beginning to affect her voice as well. What she was about to say was very difficult. "What if this is permanent? . . . . What if I never get better? You'll have to get another partner."

Chris pressed Jill even closer to himself even though it seemed like it wasn't possible. "Don't talk like that," he whispered back. "I want you by my side always."

Claire bit her finger. Sure, he masked his words as though talking about their partnership, but she knew that wasn't the true meaning. She wanted to sob aloud, but couldn't allow that to happen; at least, not until she made sure her brother was deep in the ardent throes of making out with Jill Valentine. In the meantime, Claire tried fanning herself with one hand in the attempt to help ride the ebb and flow of emotion. She peeked around the corner again. Chris was holding onto Jill so tightly, Claire flashed back to the dances they used to have at their high school, St. John Francis Regis Academy, where the nuns used to lightly tap you with a switch if you didn't "leave some room for the Holy Spirit" between you and your partner. If the nuns could have seen Chris just now, they surely would have been giving him a terrible rapping.

Claire couldn't tell if Chris was just nestling his face into Jill's hair again, or if he was actually kissing her. She hoped for the latter and prayed that her brother wasn't dumb enough to do anything else. Which ever the case, whatever he was doing seemed to have a mollifying effect on Jill. Tears were still streaking her cheeks, but much more slowly than before. She appeared to be nestling into him as much as he was into her. Her fingers relaxed their grip, allowing her hands to softly touch the parts of Chris that were in contact with them, just like his hands were caressing the parts of her that they held.

_C'mon, Dumbass! She's primed for it! Turn your stupid face and make out with her already!_

". . . I don't want – " began Jill quietly, but she paused for it was hard for her to talk just then. She took a deep breath, but her voice was still quaking. "I'm still so scared . . . . I feel so alone." With this last admission, Jill couldn't help but begin to cry harder despite her partner's current efforts to comfort her.

Chris backed away slightly so he could look Jill in her eyes. With one arm he kept her close, but with the other he brought a hand to her face to wipe away some of the tears. And Claire watched as he gently inclined Jill's face toward his, and she recognized just how close her brother's lips were to his partner's just then.

"C'mon, Jill," he tenderly chided in a whispered breath, "I'm always here with you."

Perhaps there was no way to tell what, if anything, was going through Chris Redfield's mind at that moment, and perhaps it was better for him to not consciously know, but to let his innermost, hidden yearnings carry him into an action that his fully conscious self would have avoided had it identified the potential situation. Perhaps the only thing Chris was aware of was how right being this close to Jill Valentine felt and how much better it would feel for the both of them to bring himself even closer. And on this subconsciously pre-meditated impulse, Chris slowly began to move, his eyes closed, and lips parted in preparation.

Claire's excitement grew tenfold as she witnessed what was happening. And she might have even seen the fruition of Chris' inner promptings had he succeeded in the endeavor that his secret desires were compelling him to do . . . that is, had she not lost her balance from her hiding spot allowing gravity to fling her sprawling onto the floor with a loud shriek of distress and surprise to accompany it.

In alarm from the sudden clamor, Jill grabbed onto Chris, but he instinctively pushed her away and behind him to get between her and the threat.

"Claire!" he exclaimed, seeing his kid sister instead of something of the ilk of an executioner majini. "What are you doing?" Adrenaline induced alertness was quickly being replaced with a slow bleeding of humiliation as the reality of what almost happened pulled on single strands of hair in the back of his mind. He worried of Jill.

"Ugh," groaned Claire with a mixture of effort and disgust as she slowly brought herself to her feet. "Sorry. The door was open so I came in, and I slipped on the remote control." She prayed her brother wouldn't see the very device she indicted sitting ever so neatly on the middle couch cushion naught but less than a yard away. She thought to block his view.

"Well . . . are you okay?" came Chris trying to ignore the fact that his blood had been rushing _before_ he heard Claire's cry.

"Yeah, I'm fine," she replied. "Where's Jill? Is she ready?"

Without so much as even a sidelong glance at him, Jill rushed out from behind her protector saying, "Just let me get dressed." The mien of her movement made Chris feel ashamed as he watched his partner run away from him down the hall to her bedroom.

"Oh, okay," said Claire. She turned to Chris to look him innocently in his dilated pupils to complete the ruse. "I didn't even know she was there."

Mere moments later, Jill Valentine came from her room fully dressed and nearly seemed to grab Chris' little sister and rush her out the door. The speed in which she moved would have given a believable testimony against her ever needing to recover from the P-30. Although such a sight should have bolstered Chris' faith in himself and his and Jill's partnership in being able to facilitate a full recovery for her, the only thing he could focus on was that fact that Jill did not look at him even once before the women left him. He tried to tell himself that it wasn't by refusal, but he couldn't be convinced.

As the girls would be away for much of the day, Chris made his way to the garage assigned for his apartment, where he was currently keeping his partner's car. He propped open the hood and went for a ratchet from the tool box, but before he could apply the tool to its task, it's master became lost in thought. Chris wasn't sure if Jill was aware of what almost took place in their kitchen - what he had nearly succeeded in doing, but regardless of what she was conscious of, Chris found that he could no longer deny it to himself.

It was a shame, really, he'd thought. He'd done so well for so many years never letting on. But things had changed so much since this began. Her disappearance and presumption of death for three years was the point Chris could identify as the breaking of the barriers he'd so solidly constructed over time. The event had been traumatic enough to shake their foundations at the core. His actions in private betrayed him, and he was thankful that he'd been alone when that happened. And now, Jill was clearly alive and living in what was once only his apartment. Chris believed that her return would be the return of the denial of emotions he had repressed for so long, but unfortunately her arrival was apparently not conducive to the rebirth of the lie. His actions, especially today, urgently placed something very dear and precious in great risk.

Chris couldn't help but pray that Jill had not recognized what he nearly did, but the fact that she was so eager to quit his presence left him with little hope. It was then Chris Redfield vowed that once again he would bury his true feelings only this time in a grave so deep that not even the T-virus could revive them.

"It's funny how much better a giant chocolate chip cookie tastes when your hair is the right color," observed Jill breaking off another chewy piece before placing it in her mouth. Claire, her renewed, redheaded companion could only nod in agreement as she was still chewing on her own gooey piece. The girls were currently taking repose in the local coffee house for chai tea lattes and a shared giant chocolate chip cookie after their successful excursion to the salon.

Jill couldn't help but feel very much relieved to find very familiar brown tresses hanging over her shoulder from her ponytail. The sunlight coming in from the nearby window frolicked flirtatiously in her red undertones with such familiarity as if they'd never left.

Claire had been waiting for a chance to talk with Jill, especially in regards to what she had witnessed earlier. She'd hoped that Jill would have opened up on her own, but this didn't happen. In fact, Claire began to wonder if Jill had no idea of what nearly transpired, but upon examining the visual evidence, Claire couldn't believe that to be true. But then again, perhaps Jill Valentine was being particularly tight-lipped about it because she did not share Chris' feelings and was just thankful that nothing had occurred, and wished not to relive the near tragedy anyway. Claire was going to have to feel her out, and she quickly employed a tactic.

"So, Jill," she began with all the detached interest she could muster, "do you think now that Wesker and Tricell's CEO are out of the picture that you and Chris might be able to lead more normal lives?"

Jill shrugged with an apathetic air that nearly frustrated her counterpart. "Define normal."

"Well . . . " Claire sat back and kept her composure before she continued, "I mean, do you think Chris will finally let me find a girlfriend for him?"

Jill laughed lightly. "I doubt it. That man's been in superhero mode for so long, I think he's totally alienated himself from that emotion."

"What do you mean?" The question came with honest concern for her brother as well as her plot.

"Ten years," stated Jill. "Ten years, and I can't recall seeing that man once with a girlfriend. In STARS it might even come up in conversation with him, but after everything went crazy with Wesker and Umbrella . . ." Jill shook her head. "Saving the world seemed to be all your brother could ever think about. The things Wesker was doing haunted him at night. After the mansion incident, Chris was never quite the same. At times he was nearly obsessed with getting the truth out there only no one would listen except for those of us who were there. I could tell he wasn't sleeping. I was checking in on him in his apartment every few days, and after a while it was everyday to bring him food just to make sure he was eating. Naturally, he began to calm down a little the more he and I followed Umbrella's trail and more and more of the truth came to light, but that same obsession still takes over once in a while." Claire kept listening intently as she watched Jill's eyes reflect the past. "Before our mission to the Spencer estate, I would come into the office early in the morning to find Chris asleep on his desk, his face in some file or other, looking for whatever. There've been days I refused to leave until he does, and sometimes I just stay the night with him so he's at least not alone." Jill sighed. "It's funny to me sometimes because in the BSAA, they usually don't pair up opposite sex partners unless the mission calls for it, but I think the BSAA even realizes, like I did a while ago, that Chris needs a female partner if not for anything else than to take care of him."

Claire swallowed to buy some time to find a response to stick to her plan. "Well, maybe that's all the more reason to try to get him a girlfriend."

"Maybe," replied Jill. "Although, your best bet would be to find someone in the BSAA."

"Why do you say that?"

"Chris spends so much of his time there; she'd never see him otherwise."

"Yeah," said Claire slowly in thought as she wondered what Jill could be driving at. Could she honestly be insinuating herself in the position of her brother's significant other, or did she truly not feel that way about him? She picked up her mug and took a contemplative sip.

"It'd be a shame if she wasn't a fellow agent anyway," said Jill after a few beats.

"In what way?"

Jill smiled while staring into her latte as though she was scrying a reverie. "There'd be so many things she probably wouldn't see. I mean, . . . like, the look Chris gets on his face when intelligence picks up a lead on something; it's like, you're looking at a little boy at Christmas. He gets so . . . excited and happy. Suddenly, he looks twenty-eight years younger even amidst that five o'clock shadow he's usually sporting." Jill laughed again with her gaze fixed into the moment she was describing, and she stayed there for a silent split second before going on to say, "It's really cute."

Claire swore she saw Jill blushing, but said nothing, and hoped this was more evidence. She let Jill stay within her moment, and thought to stay in this tack. She adopted the most innocent air possible before she slyly poked at a possible proverbial jugular. "Do you think my brother's attractive? I mean, I can't really tell since he _is_ my brother."

Jill seemed to blush more, and Claire could tell that she was slightly taken aback by the question. It shouldn't have startled her if there was nothing of emotional value behind her answer, Claire thought. She waited, and it did seem to take a split second longer for Valentine to answer than it should have.

The other smiled meekly. ". . . Oh sure. I mean . . . look at him. You should see the way women hit on him when we go out."

Claire shrugged. "I guess. I'm not really attracted to big, muscle-ly guys. I was just wondering . . . . Did you think he was attractive before he put on all that muscle? What if I get him a girlfriend, and he loses it since he doesn't have to anticipate taking Albert Wesker down with his bare hands anymore?"

"Yeah," said Jill supportively with a nod. But Claire wasn't sure if she was convinced. Either Jill was hiding something, or she was honestly trying to support Claire in her newly manufactured quest to play matchmaker for her brother. If she was hiding something, what was it? But if she was just being supportive, Claire didn't want to talk Jill into helping her with this contrived endeavor. If Claire Redfield was going to ever have a sister-in-law, she would make certain, come Hell, high water, or zombie apocalypse, Jill Valentine would fill that position.

"What kind of men _are_ you into?"

Jill's question startled her would-be in-law from her cogitations quite completely. "What do you mean?" asked Claire. A dull ache began to rise from deep within the younger Redfield. It was an ache that she had only acknowledged the past several years in its form disguised as inspiration to help others victimized in some way from Umbrella's viral outbreaks and experiments.

"I can't remember Chris ever talking about you having a boyfriend – not that I can see him divulging all kinds of information here, even if he had any, but I mean, despite that wild-child exterior you used to sport, I could always see you as a mom someday."

As Claire listened to Jill, she relented the fight against that which caused the dull ache to exist, and when she did, a sweetness emerged that touched her soul with a gentle tickling of wispy fingers like she remembered had once touched her cheek before the gentle voice could speak no more, and the soft light left his blue eyes. A moment that had changed her life into what it was now. A moment, which in its disguised form, had influenced much of the choices she made on a daily basis. Claire wasn't surprised that Jill didn't seem to know about it. After all, Claire and Chris had made the silent vow to never speak about prisoner 0267 amongst each other. After she had become a bio-tragedy counselor, Claire had once stumbled upon a file containing contents on the prisoners at Rockfort Island. With trembling hands and bleary eyes, she kept Steve's photograph, but could only bring herself to look at it when times really got tough.

But as for Jill's question, Claire just shrugged. The ache and the sweetness mingled together breaking and mending her heart simultaneously. "I guess, for some of us," she began, "we find that one person and that's it."

Chris' partner was perceptive when it came to both Redfields and so sensed the change in Claire's demeanor instantly. She softly asked, "What happened to him, Claire?"

It took a moment and a deep breath before she could say, "Wesker took him away." It was an answer too simplistic, but one that Jill would understand without more effort from Claire that she didn't have the energy to manage right now.

Jill just nodded and gave a comforting smile, and Claire knew that she understood more than she could intimate with words. Ushering away what she could of the pain, Claire took another sip from her mug with a new determination to undermine Wesker and Umbrella's memory in yet another way. For so long it destroyed lives and had torn people apart from their loved ones. If Claire could just get her brother to stop repressing, and his partner to realize her own feelings, then there might yet be one beautiful thing to be born from all the ugliness.

Claire decided to take one more tactic even though the turmoil of feelings surrounding Steve Burnside was still churning. She'd fight that battle herself later, but for now, she needed to concentrate on the matter at hand.

"So, back to my brother," she said after putting down her mug and crossing her arms over her chest to punctuate her statement by falling back into her chair. "It's beginning to sound like I have my work cut out for me, then. I mean, if he's going to be so hard for even you to live with BSAA or not . . . ."

"Well, I don't know," said Jill turning her head away. "He's not exactly _hard_ to live with, but he is a challenge, and things haven't gotten any easier. . . . "

And now Claire was concerned. Many a relationship could never find its wings not due to people not being attracted to one another, but due to people realizing that they just could not live with the other person in close quarters, or whatnot. "What do you mean?"

"Since I've been back, " began Jill, "I can't quite place it, but your brother's been different. I don't know. He _feels_ different."

The younger Redfield knew she didn't like the sound of this. Could it really be possible that Jill was sensing what Chris appeared to truly feel about her and not wish to return the sentiment? Sadder things have happened in life. At this point, Claire knew her best tactic might be to keep asking questions in such a way that Jill Valentine might believe that she was just imagining the things she didn't want to believe. "I'm not sure I know what you're talking about." Claire was apparently making it a talent of feigning innocence lately.

Jill lightly shook her head. "I'm not even sure I know myself. Just something's different. I don't know. The best I can offer is that he was kinda weird in the hospital the day he brought me home – like he was trying to hide something. I didn't see him for days, and he didn't tell me what he was doing either. It was only until he brought me to his apartment did I realize what he had been doing. And then, on the way home, there was a cigarette filter in his ashtray. Chris had quit smoking for nearly ten years, and had done so because he wanted to be at his physical best to face Wesker. Based off what he said, he began smoking again sometime before going to Africa. That's not like him. Why would he just start up like that again? Was he depressed? Did he stop caring about what he'd been dedicating his life to? Losing that passion is just not like him."

At this, Claire believed she could shine some light to the mystery that was her brother as she placed herself in Jill Valentine's boots for a moment. "Well . . . Chris did change a lot in a way over the past three years," began Claire slowly. "Not like, in any truly major ways – he still definitely had that passion to defeat Wesker, but after you were believed to be dead, he did a lot of questioning. I know this sounds weird, but at your funeral, he began to say things about whether or not it was worth it anymore." This last statement must have sounded something within Jill because Claire felt a twinge of distress in the air. She carefully continued. "Think about it. I mean, think about how much a part of Chris' life you've been, Jill. Think about what you were saying earlier about taking care of him and everything. I don't do those things and have no patience with him to do them. It wasn't long after the funeral and everything that he began smoking again. And, you're right. He's not the same. He's not exactly completely different, but he's not the same, and how could he be? Losing someone that close to you? . . . I'm telling you, Jill, and I know it's hard to imagine, but . . . there were times in the last three years where my brother barely held it together. And I don't know if you know this, but that man went on mission after mission after you were gone, not even giving himself any time to rest between them. I suspected then that maybe he was looking for some clue as to what really happened to you or your body at least, but at the same time, I also think, as a bio-tragedy counselor, that Chris just couldn't face the reality of the emptiness of you not being in his life . . . especially outside the BSAA."

Jill had to look away from Claire's unintentionally harsh gaze, which was like a window to a truth about Chris Redfield that his partner had never realized had anything to do with her. Being partners and doing missions together was one thing, and many an agent in the BSAA had experienced that loss, but not being able to cope with the loss of her in his personal life? She had never considered it and never assumed it to mean so much to him. Hearing these things from Claire was suddenly causing something powerfully uncomfortable stirring within the formally impregnable confines she had unconsciously constructed for it.

Chris had just closed the hood to his partner's car, and was wiping off his hands with a rag, when his little sister poked her red head around the corner of the garage wall.

"Are you ready, Chris?" she asked with all the enthusiasm of a game show host calling him from the studio audience to play.

Her brother's reply was more suspicious as he wasn't particularly a great fan of game shows. "Ready for what?"

Claire stepped away from the garage wall and walked more into Chris' view as she extended out her arms to show him his fabulous, new prize. "For the return of Jill Classic!"

Chris Redfield's prize pranced into view and pulled her blue cap from her head and freed her hair from her ponytail letting her renewed, chestnut colored locks fall to her shoulders.

"Ta-da!" said Jill laughing, feeling slightly ridiculous out of self-consciousness, but enjoying playing along with Claire's presentation anyway. "Well, what do you think?"

Chris leisurely came toward Jill for a closer inspection, still wiping the remnants of car grease from his hands and seeming altogether unenthused. "That's not Jill Classic," he said.

His partner pulled her hair over her shoulder and brought it to her lips and looked at it. "You don't think the color's right?"

"The color's fine," he replied, "but you forgot your beret."

"Oh geez, Chris," rejoined Claire. "So it's not exactly Classic Jill. What do you want from us?"

"I'm not complaining," he replied. "Hell, I'm just relieved she didn't come home as a silly red-head."

Claire quickly punched her brother in the bicep with enough force to make a normal man think twice, but Chris appeared barely affected. "You're such an ass."

Jill was laughing again at the two Redfield siblings. "Don't take it personally, Claire. Everybody knows that men prefer blondes anyway. You're probably a little disappointed I changed it back, aren't ya, Redfield?" she teased.

But the look that Chris responded with, whether merely something she read into that heralded back to the conversation she had with Claire or not, nearly made her blush with its intimate sincerity. "You know me better than that, Jill."

It was too much. She had to look away.

Thankfully, the little sister kept the tension from mounting as she cut in: "It almost makes me wish we didn't go grocery shopping for you. But since I'm the bigger person, I won't let it affect me. Here." Claire held out some bags of groceries.

"You didn't have to go grocery shopping," replied Chris. "We're all stocked up."

"No, your not," rejoined a recovered Jill. "I noticed the other day that we didn't have anything to make a meatloaf with."

"Meatloaf? The famous Jill Valentine meatloaf?"

"You bet!"

Once again Claire realized that there was more history being uncovered between the two partners to which she was not privy. "Jill's famous for her meatloaf?"

"Well, I wouldn't say 'famous'," she replied. "But meatloaf was I what I usually brought for Chris when the whole Umbrella thing blew up after STARS investigated those murders oh so long ago."

Claire quickly remembered Jill reminiscing to her earlier in the coffee house, and wondered if it was because of their conversation that she felt so inclined to go shopping for meatloaf ingredients afterward. She took this as an interesting sign, and hoped it was a good omen.

"Ah, I haven't had your meatloaf in such a long time, Jill." Chris nearly looked like he was going to start drooling as they all began to walk back to the apartment.

"Well, hey," said Jill as she playfully punched him in the arm, "I owe you one, Partner."

Claire let the duo walk a few paces ahead of her so she could observe.

Having a day out of the house must have done some good, Jill thought to herself the following morning. Oddly enough, she felt much better than she had the previous days put together, and wondered why all the sudden she was able to feel so good. She recognized that she still didn't quite have the energy she was used to, but she certainly wasn't struggling for any. She also couldn't help but notice that this was the first time waking up since being in the West African branch of the BSAA headquarters completely free of Wesker's mind control that she felt happy.

Jill stretched, got out of bed, and noticed that she was rising at an earlier time than she had been. She brushed out her hair, but didn't put it up in a ponytail yet, enjoying the welcome return of its natural brown hues. Jill put down the brush and left her bedroom to walk down the hallway, and noticed that Chris' bedroom door was wide open. As she walked past, she saw that her partner was still asleep for she could clearly see the considerable mountain of muscular flesh lying in his bed. She decided that she would get the coffee started and make breakfast.

When Jill came into the kitchen she pulled down two mugs from the cupboard and then began preparing the coffee maker. While in the process, she noticed a small, white piece of paper hanging by a magnet near the top of the refrigerator that was above her natural eye line and recognized it as a prescription from Dr. Rosenthal. At first she thought of the likelihood of it being for painkillers for Chris after the mission to Africa, but seeing as that the mission was now weeks ago, if he had needed the painkillers, he would have gotten it filled a while earlier. She worried it was something worse, perhaps for a narcotic to deaden chronic pain from an injury Chris had sustained from a different mission. After the coffee started brewing, she returned to the fridge and pulled the paper from the magnet. It was dated the day Chris had brought her home from the hospital. It read: _Give patient a healthy dose of TLC daily as needed_, and was even signed by the good doctor.

Jill thought for a moment. Chris certainly had been trying his best at least to follow the doctor's orders only she had made it difficult for him for several days in that interim period until just recently. She couldn't even say that she had acted all that grateful toward him except for yesterday's meatloaf. Instead, she had been hiding, making it more strenuous and causing him to worry.

Jill tacked the script back onto the fridge and left the kitchen. She walked back down the hallway and stopped at Chris' room. She leaned up against the doorjamb and bit her thumb in thought as she watched him sleep. His back was toward her as he was lying on his side with sheets covering him just to his hips, and his arms appeared to be wrapped around his pillow. He slept silently as she watched the steady rise and fall of his shoulder with each breath, and she witnessed him sigh in his sleep. In total opposition to a fully awake Chris Redfield, he looked so vulnerable.

Jill slipped away from the doorjamb for only a moment, but she suddenly returned at a full run, speeding into Chris' room, yelling, "FIRE IN THE HOLE!" She leapt toward the bed, but before she could land on him, Chris caught her and quickly tucked her underneath himself and yanked his pillow over their heads. From underneath the covers and her partner, Jill waited, hearing and feeling Chris' heavy breathing, until she couldn't wait anymore. "Did the grenade go off yet, Chris?" It took everything within her not to giggle.

It was then, Chris realized that the white snows of Antarctica were quite uncharacteristically warm and comfortable. "Dammit, Jill!" he exclaimed with some mild annoyance as he flung the pillow away and rolled off her. "I was sound asleep."

"I know," said Jill allowing herself to give into laughter now. "That's why it's so funny! Your reactions are too well-honed."

"You'd think that'd be a good thing," he grumbled.

"Well, you know . . . consider it like training. You never know when I'm going to strike next. I'm testing you, Chris Redfield, and you pass _every_ time!"

"Then why do I feel like such a jackass?"

"I don't think I need to dignify that with an answer," she replied with a wry smile.

Chris groaned as he reached for the pillow and rolled over, turning his back toward her again.

"Geez, you're such a grumpus in the morning," she teased. "Sounds like I need to get some coffee in you stat."

"I'm just going back to sleep, if you don't mind."

"Well, fine," tisked Jill with mock irritation. But Chris didn't move in response as he was once again welcoming back the sandman, the one person who understood him best this early in the morning. "Suit yourself," she said with finality. Jill pulled up the covers and snuggled herself up against Chris' warm, muscular back.

Now this got his attention. Redfield's eyes shot open. "What are you doing, Jill?"

"What's the problem?"

Chris stammered. "I-I'm . . . you're in my bed, and all I've got on are boxers."

"Well, so?" challenged Valentine. "I've seen you naked before. It's not a big deal."

". . . That kinda hurts, Jill."

"I'm not talking about _that_," she retorted. "Just pretend I'm a little kitten, or something."

Chris was well aware that this situation was potentially dangerous in terms of reawakening certain feelings before he had time to properly repress them again. It wasn't as though he couldn't trust himself not to act on them, but he wasn't sure he could trust certain aspects of the male physiology from acting on their own accord, and that was placing way too much temptation in Fate's path. He knew Jill had no idea of the possible danger. She was like a little lamb prancing innocently on the lush green just outside the door to the slaughterhouse. Chris felt vile.

"I'm not pretending you're a kitten, Jill," he insisted.

"Why not? Who doesn't like a soft, warm, little kitten curling up next to them?"

"Jill –"

"Would it help if I purred, Chris?"

That was the last thing he needed at this time and place. He bolted upright with sheets and appendages flailing and moved away from arm's reach. He knew she was teasing him and maybe even unintentionally flirting as only Jill Valentine could do, but that certainly didn't make matters the slightest bit less potentially cataclysmic.

"Well, geez," came Jill at her best attempt at being sounding serious. "I guess it's okay for you to jump into my bed in jolly Africa-land, but for me to get into your bed here in the States is a federal offense, eh Redfield?"

"It's more a matter of biological weaponry."

She evidently didn't fully catch her partner's meaning. "Then that's a job for the BSAA, and I have a lot of on-field experience with the Morning Grumpus!" Before Chris knew how to react, and despite his vocal protest, his partner was on him with fingers flying, breaking the confines of speed and time. Jill's deft and slender digits went effortlessly to the task of dismantling the programming that protected Chris' tickle reflex. He writhed in a strange amalgam of pleasure and pain, kicking the sheets and trying to grab her hands to get her to stop without accidentally injuring her in the process. Several times he nearly was able to squirm himself from harm's way, but this only made his partner more aggressive in her onslaught by changing her point of attack. While still laughing, carrying on, and fearing nothing, Jill jumped onto Chris and straddled him for optimal tickling positioning.

Chris Redfield had spent innumerable hours of self-control training, ignoring days of hunger, and enduring otherwise blinding pain for the sake of finishing a mission, but none of those hours of experience had prepared him for anything that would enable him to withstand a temptation that kindled his most passionate of unspeakable desires. The tickling from Jill was just a slight distraction; his writhing was more of a reaction in a nearly feeble attempt to move the slaughterhouse from the vicinity of the lamb before her irrepressible charm revealed that the slaughterhouse was merely a façade for a secret missile silo with vast powers of total decimation, garnered over years of political association and diplomatic lies to keep relations uncontroversial between itself and the State of Sexy Lambness. However, with the State recently launching this onslaught of tickle propaganda against the slaughterhouse, the lamb's frisky frolicking and playful romping over its pastures was happening in such a sequence as to dangerously coming close to arming the otherwise disguised silo.

At this point, all Chris Redfield could do was pray. He was losing faith however, because aside from the unintentional rubbing, grinding, and near thrusting going on amidst the struggling, Jill's joyous laughter and genuine happiness made it all the harder to resist the urgings of his baser instincts that he had fought so hard over the years to control.

And then, quite abruptly, all laughter from Jill stopped, and a fey silence crashed through the cacophony of frenzied worry and rushed prayers that had been replaying themselves loudly within Chris' mind.

"Oh," Jill breathed.

Chris slowly opened his eyes, and found his partner looking at him strangely. It was then, he knew, that which he had feared to come had, and the time for panic had passed as the unspeakable must have happened. Chris realized that there were only two things he could do in this moment, and he couldn't decide which would lead to less tragedy. He could apologize and blame it on biology, or he could finally confess his love for her. He swallowed hard and regarded her gently, returning her gaze.

". . . Jill, . . . I -"

She fainted.

"Jill?" Momentarily forgetting all complications previous, Chris quickly felt her neck to check her pulse. Finding nothing of concern there, he felt her head for any other signs of fever or illness. Again, she was fine. Because she was feeling better than usual, Jill must have overestimated her state of recovery and merely exhausted herself. He recognized now that the stare she had been giving him right before was only Jill realizing this for herself and not the wide-eyed look of terror, watching the impending doom of an incoming missile spelling out destruction of platonic relations. She was none the wiser of anything. He heaved a sigh of relief for his partner and for himself and dropped his head back onto his pillow. Everything was all right.

Chris gingerly removed Jill from his chest, laid her on the bed, pulled the covers over her, and then went into his bathroom for an ice-cold shower.

A couple of hours later found Chris Redfield showered, dressed, and leaning over the kitchen's island, sipping coffee that had mysteriously appeared in his coffeemaker sometime earlier, and looking over a periodical for the most serious of weapons enthusiasts. Chris generally didn't describe himself as a "weapons enthusiast" since he felt that the title belonged mostly to people who were singularly raised by their grandfather's post traumatic stress disorder, coupled with ol' pappy's racist views, and fed on a diet of small, woodland critters. However, Redfield being a former member of the Air Force, STARS, and now a BSAA agent was very familiar with firearms, and felt it pertinent to remain informed in their evolution.

As he read and sipped, he heard keys at the lock of the front door, the squeak of it opening, and a familiar voice call out, "Hello?"

He called back, "In the kitchen."

Without further announcement, Claire came into the kitchen, grabbed a mug from the cabinet, and poured herself some coffee. She took a sip. "Mm. Good coffee. You didn't make this."

The Redfield siblings had differing views on how to define good coffee, but Chris didn't feel up to taking his little sister's mild antagonistic bait. "Jill did."

"Where is Jill?" asked Claire.

"Still sleeping."

"You sure? You know it's getting kinda late for her to be in bed. " Claire put down her mug. "Are you sure she's okay?"

Before her brother could answer, Claire was gone from the kitchen and into the hallway. Although her brother was mildly annoyed by her snooping as though it was an affront to how well he was taking care of his partner, he let it go for now.

Claire reappeared in the kitchen doorway. "Chris, she's not sleeping. Are you sure she didn't leave?" And again before Chris could respond, his little sister was gone saying, "She's not in her bed."

"She's in my room," Chris called.

"What?" yelled Claire.

"Not so loud!" He growled. "She's just in my room."

The only return was silence from the hallway. A couple of minutes passed, where Chris spent them benignly sipping his coffee and reading about the latest model of the AA-12, when Claire came careening back into the kitchen and began to vehemently assail him with her purse.

"What the fuck, Claire?!"

"I can't believe you!" she cried between swings. "All you men are ALL alike!"

"Hit me again with that purse, Claire!" Chris threatened, blocking a strike.

"Jill's not some cheap, floozy, you whore! And you know she's sensitive about that because of her screwy mother!"

Chris tried to grab the swinging purse, but barely dodged a blow to the face. "What the hell are you talking about?!"

"She's your partner! You're supposed to be taking care of her! Or did it come easy since you've probably taken advantage of her before!"

"Dammit!" Chris blocked another attack, but Claire's purse was heavy with loose change, some of which, was making its escape each time it hit him and was knocked onto the tile floor, clinking and chinging its way into nooks and crannies rarely to be seen again before a thorough spring cleaning. "We didn't sleep together!" he growled. He evaded another pass from the purse. "And for your information –" he blocked another hit with more loose change springing forth like silver and copper shrapnel – "she jumped into bed with me on her own!"

"Right! Like I'm supposed to believe that!" panted Claire lowering her purse as she was finally loosing the strength to keep up the onslaught.

"That's the truth," stated Chris. "You know I'd never hurt her, especially not like that."

The look in her brother's eye made her want to believe him, and called her away from her feminist ardor. "Oh, yeah?" she challenged with a labored breath as she was still trying to catch it. "Why the hell did she jump in your bed, then?"

Chris sighed, knowing that his answer was feeble. "'Cause she does things like that to me."

Claire tried hard to not be convinced. Even though this was her brother, she was aware of the wickedness of male-kind. She wiped the sweat from her lip with the back of her hand, stopped to think, then put it down. "You calling her cheap?"

"Hell no! It was nothing like that."

Claire took some final heavy breaths. "Fine." She unceremoniously let her purse drop to the kitchen floor with a thud, and ambled over to the table to throw herself into a chair.

"See, this is what happens when you dye your hair red." Chris took up her mug and brought it to her at the table. "What's gotten into you?"

"I had a rough night."

"Couldn't sleep?"

She paused before she answered him, and then looked away very somberly. "I was dreaming about Steve. . . . He was alive."

It took Chris a full second to respond. "Oh" was all he could say. Then, "Do you need to –"

"I don't want to talk about it," she interjected.

Another moment passed, and Claire had just begun to find herself needing to fight back tears when a large, muscled arm wrapped around her head and pulled it to her brother's chest before he kissed the top of her head. It was enough to ebb the flow of emotion, and Chris knew it. So he pulled away and went back to his magazine and coffee, knowing that staying too long would make Claire worse, and she hated seeming vulnerable even in front of her brother.

"So what's all this?" she asked indicating the pile of mail on the table and needing something to change the subject.

"Mail. It comes to houses sometimes."

"I know, jackass," she replied derisively with love. "But what's this thing from the BSAA. It looks all snazzy." The envelope was already opened, so she pulled out the contents. "Do all your correspondence from the BSAA come all snazzy-lookin' like this?"

"No. That's . . . something different," replied Chris not even looking up from his magazine once.

Claire quickly read through the papers that were decorated with gold embellishments that flashed in the sunlight from the kitchen window. "Chris!" she nearly exclaimed. "They want to honor you for you for stopping Irving and intercepting the Uroboros project!"

"Yeah, I know," he grumbled.

"This is a big deal." She read further not yet noticing her brother's non-excitement. "Too bad I can't go. BSAA only."

"Yeah."

She looked up. "Why aren't you excited, Chris?"

"I don't know. A lot of people were involved in that mission. I was just doing my job. Besides, I wasn't sure if Jill was going to be feeling well enough by then. She comes first."

"Well enough for what?"

Chris turned to find a somewhat sleepy Jill Valentine. Before he could answer her, his sister beat him to the punch.

"For this awards dinner for Chris and – " she paused as she read the name again on the cardstock, "Sheva Alomar . . .? Who's Sheva Alomar?"

"My partner in Africa. She's from the West African division of the BSAA," her brother answered.

"You don't need to be concerned about me," said Jill. "If I'm not feeling well, I just won't go."

"I don't want to go without you, Jill."

"But, you have to be there, Chris, " she returned as she crossed over to him. "You're partially responsible for them throwing the thing." Because she was still a little tired, Jill settled herself into Chris' chest and wrapped her arms around him, closing her eyes. "Besides, this may be the last time you even get to see Sheva."

"I know, but I'd be able to stomach the whole award thing better if you were there." Chris brought a hand to her back and began to gently rub it, soothing her into deeper relaxation.

Claire just watched, not saying a word to disturb this vision of her brother and future sister-in-law.

"Well, I'm sure I'll be okay enough to go. I just overdid it this morning."

The younger Redfield had to cover her face with her hand to hide her smile as she nearly giggled thinking about Jill's last statement and what she had wrongly assumed had occurred between her brother and his partner earlier. But it didn't escape Chris.

"What's so funny, over there, Little Sister?"

"Nothing." She hid her face with the award invitation.

"The only problem is, I don't think I have anything fancy enough to go in," continued Jill, opening her eyes.

"Hey, that's not a problem," replied the female Redfield. "We can do a shopping excursion. We have until next week."

"You sure, Jill?" came Chris.

"Oh, I'll be fine by then." Jill began to rub her face across his chest.

"What are you doing?"

"My nose was itchy."

"Oh."

Claire acted as though she didn't recognize a thing.

Jill stopped scratching her nose via Chris Redfield's pectoralis major and placed her head back on his shoulder when something shining and obviously out of place caught her eye. "Why is there change in the dish drainer?"

The rest of the day had given Jill some time to think, and she was still ruminating that evening when she stepped out of the shower. For reasons unknown to her conscious mind, she couldn't let go of her conversation with Claire from yesterday. And what was even stranger than that, something about that conversation made her feel depressed as she looked at herself in the mirror when she was combing her hair. Just yesterday, she had felt so happy to have her original, rich browns back, however, as she faced herself, she thought that the darker hues called more attention to her paler skin and lighter eye color. The more obvious juxtaposition in the hues made her think that she looked even sicker than she had before. Jill tried to push the observation away when something self-deprecating whispered into her conscious mind; that even if Chris Redfield was looking to take on a romantic partner for life, he certainly wouldn't choose her now that she looked the way she did.

Jill Valentine slammed her comb down on the sink and cursed herself in a choked sob.

When she looked back up into the grey eyes of her reflection, tears were rimming them. Before she could tell herself to get a grip, and explain away her emotional upheaval on the withdrawal from P-30, more biting thoughts came, and they used her memories to sabotage her with things she'd convinced herself that she'd forgotten.

Ten years ago, Chris Redfield joined STARS, and even then, as Barry Burton introduced them, she warned herself. When Captain Wesker announced that they were going to be partners in most missions, her heart quailed for she worried that she didn't have the strength required to fight the crush she felt developing – a crush that she knew even then, with barely knowing him, that he would never return. It was terrible anyway, she had thought. She barely knew the guy, and already she had to barricade her heart from her own silliness. What had made it worse, was the fact that her new partner was amazing; handsome, intelligent, courageous, and passionate about justice. On more than one occasion, even against Captain Wesker's orders, she witnessed him run back into a dangerous situation to rescue a small child, an elderly woman, or a helpless dog; she continued to witness him doing such things to this day, and every time, he took her breath away.

It was no wonder Wesker hated him so much. Wesker, with all his genius, money, technology, and superhuman prowess, was often foiled by Chris Redfield, who fought him with practically nothing more than a big heart.

Perhaps it was the final remnants of the P-30 drug breaking down her previously virtually impregnable emotional barriers, or the memory of the tender way Chris held her and wiped away her tears when she had fallen apart, or perhaps it was only the conversation she had with Claire the previous day that was allowing such things to come to light, but which ever it was, the thing which had stirred so uncomfortably within her as Claire had finished telling her about how her brother mourned over losing her, broke free of its compromised restraints and assailed her soul. It spoke in a sweet, warm whisper, spilling poisoned words, teaching Jill that as amazing as Chris was to her, he was never to be hers . . . by his own choice.

Jill allowed herself to sob a little into her towel before even entertaining the thought of leaving the safety of the bathroom. She forced herself to stop quite suddenly, knowing that she was crying in futility. All she had to do was repress her feelings again. She had been successful for ten years; there was no reason she couldn't be successful for another couple of decades. She just had to be smart about it and work on a plan. She knew that was going to have to keep her distance from her partner again, but this time, she couldn't allow him to see the sadness motivating it otherwise he'd only worry and seek her out, which she surely couldn't have happen again. Yesterday morning's incident in the kitchen had been a close call. Luckily, as amazing as Chris Redfield was to her, he lacked the ability to read minds, or else he would've had known how much she had been hoping in that last moment that he would kiss her then. Thankful for the intrusion from Claire, all Jill could do to hide her embarrassment at her own desires was to run away from him before he could see her blushing from her unfounded hopes and possibly see them for what they were. She promised herself there would be no more close calls like that.

Valentine promptly put her pajamas on, hung up her towel, and took a deep breath to steady herself. She dabbed her eyes so they wouldn't be irritated further, and then she left the bathroom.

She found Chris in the living room, folding laundry, and passively watching TV. She quickly adopted a cheery attitude to complete the guise. "Hey."

"Hey, lady. Going to bed?"

"Yeah, I guess. I just wanted to apologize for this morning."

Chris cocked an eyebrow. It was true that Jill often pulled surprise attacks on him like that, but he had never minded, nor did he think that he had acted so until maybe this morning. "I know I kinda acted like a bastard, but it's not a big deal."

She shrugged. "I know. But I just shouldn't do things like that to you anymore. It's really inconsiderate of me." She remembered the violent manner in which he pulled himself away from her after she had snuggled up against him.

Chris couldn't help but sense something was amiss, but couldn't put his finger on it. Whatever it was, he felt he should hate it because it wasn't up to anything good. All he could say though was, "okay."

"Do you want some help with that?" Jill didn't want the moment or her memory to linger.

"Actually, I'm almost done," he said. "I was just wondering how you wanted me to fold these?" Chris held up one of Jill's laciest bras across his chest and wolf whistled.

She flushed furiously and grabbed the undergarment from him. "Oh geez, Chris," she said laughing in embarrassment. "You've probably never even had to touch a lady's delicates before!" She quickly began snatching her other bras and panties from the laundry basket.

"Oh, I've had my hands on a lady's delicates plenty of times in my day, Valentine."

She ignored his suggestive tone. "Well, you've never had your hands on mine!" she teased back while going toward her room with her arms full of her own undergarments.

"Hey . . . you know . . . that kinda sounds like an invitation, Jill . . . ."

Jill turned from her door way. "You better watch what you say, Redfield. Most jokes come from something that's half-true. What would you do if I wound up taking you seriously someday?" She quickly closed her door.

Chris Redfield had an answer to that rhetorical question, but he scolded himself for even thinking it.

For a moment, on the other side of her door, Jill waited for that answer, but then admonished herself for even hoping for it.

Claire Redfield was beginning to feel the effects of stress from treating her most challenging clients ever – those clients being her brother and his partner. The usual clients she saw were not nearly so exhausting, however, they didn't require subterfuge to help them move from their fears and continue on to more positive lives. Claire had tried to use it again on Jill Valentine during their shopping excursion; however, her companion seemed quite a bit more tight-lipped and changed the topic from Chris Redfield whenever he was brought up.

Although she hadn't had much time to meditate on this change, because Jill had been so subversive, Claire found she wasn't so surprised a couple of days later when she left a session with a client to be told by the secretary that her brother was waiting for her in her office.

"Hey. Something wrong?" she asked after she came in and closed the door. Claire moved to her desk and sat down while her brother was sitting in the chair across from her.

Chris had the look of a man who had been dealing with a situation for so long, he had surpassed weariness, and was now becoming angry out of prolonged frustration. However, since he still couldn't do anything to alleviate that which caused him to be weary, his anger was a silent one and completely internal. "It's Jill again," he said. "Did she ever say anything to you the last couple of times you've been out?"

"About you?"

"Yeah."

"Nope."

Chris sighed from exasperation, as he nearly seemed to cave in on himself over her desk.

"What's going on? Maybe something will make sense if I know the context."

Chris sat back in his chair. "She's avoiding me again. But it's different this time. Before, she would just hide and was crying all the time. Now, . . . " he paused to think. Trying to place what he was experiencing in words was problematic because he couldn't understand it. "Now . . . she's just staying away from me and apologizing for everything."

"What do you mean? – Do you mind if I have lunch while we talk?"

"Go ahead."

Claire pulled out a brown bag and began to unpack it as she listened to Chris relate the events of the past few days.

"She's always at least an arm's length away from me. I've seen her back away when I come into the room, and then she apologizes!"

"Is she sad, or does she look like she's been crying, or anything?" Claire asked as she pulled out her sandwich and looked at it thoughtfully before taking a bite.

"That's the other thing. She doesn't look depressed. She's acting like everything's all okay, almost like her old self, except for the backing away and apologizing for being around." Chris shook his head in bewilderment. "The other day, she apologized for jumping into my bed, but she's always doing things like that."

Claire was slightly confused. "Like jumping . . . into your . . . bed?"

"No," the other replied in a half-growl. "Like pretending to be an assailant, or acting like a grenade's going off, or a B. O. W.'s attacking us – especially when I'm engrossed in something. It's kinda like a joke she likes to play on me. It started off as her way of saying I could get too obsessed with work, like I was always expecting bad things relating to zombies and B.O.W.s to happen even when they couldn't."

"Ohhhh."

"But that's the really weird thing. Before three years ago, she did that kind of thing on a regular basis, and never apologized for it. The other day, she said it was inconsiderate of her, and that she'd never do it again."

"Hm." Claire scowled slightly.

Chris paused again before he went on as the next bit still truly threw him off as it seemed like such a meaningless thing, but in the context of the rest of the week, it wasn't anymore. "And that day, I was folding her underwear, and she took it from me, making a joke about me probably never having to do a girl's laundry or something, but since that day, I've noticed that she doesn't leave any of her laundry around. She's been doing all of her stuff by herself, except it's not just laundry – dishes too. And – remember how we put a lot of her things in the living room to integrate our stuff so it would feel like it was _our_ apartment, not just mine?"

"Yeah?"

"Well, I swear to you, Claire, some of her things are missing. Small stuff keeps disappearing, and it's all hers. I mean, it's her stuff, she can do with it what she wants, but . . . ." He sighed and shook his head again. "Has she said anything about moving out? Does she need more space?"

"Oh, I don't –"

"'Cause she can have the master bedroom, " interrupted Chris. "I don't care. I just thought she'd like the larger bathroom since the one attached to my bedroom just has a shower."

"Chris, I don't think –"

But her brother interrupted her again. "- Or is it the apartment? I'll buy her a house, Claire, . . . except that if this keeps up, I'd never see her, and once we go back to work, we'll hardly be home anyway."

Claire couldn't help but notice a couple of things from her brother's last statements. For one, it was interesting how he was serious in buying her a house, not that he couldn't afford it while being in the employ of the BSAA with hazard pay, plush benefits, retirement plan, and all that. Secondly, it was doubly interesting how he spoke as though he saw Jill as a permanent fixture in his living space regardless of her state of recovery.

"Which reminds me," he began again before she could respond. "She's also been asking me about other partners I've had to work with and how much I liked working with them. I only work with other people when the mission calls for it. Jill –Valentine – is – my – partner," he said stressing the last sentence. Chris leaned over the desk and started to fiddle with a pencil and stared through it. "It feels like she's trying to erase herself from my life." With a careless flick of the wrist he threw the pencil down the desk. It rolled a few inches, and Claire stopped it with a finger. Chris leaned back in the chair and slid down into a slouch. "I've been feeling like I've been going crazy for three years without her, and it's like she's trying to leave me again. Why the hell would she do that? . . . . If it wasn't for her apologizing all the time, I'd think she really does hate me for what happened."

The other shook her head. "She made a decision, Chris. Jill's mature enough to know that and not blame you for what happened to her afterward. Besides, she doesn't hold grudges. She's probably so happy to not be controlled by Wesker anymore that she doesn't even think about it, or even equate you as being the cause."

"I don't know," said Chris heavily. "I want her around, Claire. I even want her in my way. Hell, I invite her to be all over me – doesn't matter. For ten years together, we've been on missions where we were all up in each other's shit, and it was never a problem!"

Claire thought of her brother as choosing fascinating statements for describing his feelings whether they were consciously chosen or not. She let him continue to talk so she could hear for more.

"Greenland," he stated. "We were tracking this jackhole with a lead to Spencer. We were in this tiny, little shelter and had to conserve body heat to keep warm. Not an issue! Or, there was this time on a mission in Madrid we had to pose as couple on their honeymoon. Once again, it wasn't an issue!"

His sister just had to stop him here. "What do you mean? . . . Did you have to share the same bed?"

". . . No," replied Chris slowly sitting up in the chair now as he was slightly taken aback by the question. "But we were in close quarters and had to touch each other in public. You know, act like we liked each other. My point being that she didn't act weird, apologize for anything, or try to give me a wide berth or whatever. She never has acted this way before, and I'm saying there were times where I would have understood it better, or where she might have felt uncomfortable with me."

"Did you guys kiss?"

"What?"

"The mission in Madrid – did you kiss?"

Chris stopped in thought with furrowed brows in truly bewildered thought as his eyes travelled to the corner of the ceiling. "No."

"You were undercover as a couple on their honeymoon, and you didn't even kiss her?!" She nearly choked on her yogurt, having finished her sandwich and moved on to the rest of her lunch.

"Well – I don't know." Chris was feeling defensive. "Maybe I did! Like a few times . . . on the forehead or something. What difference does it make, Claire?!"

"You two were undercover as a couple on their honeymoon, and you kissed her as if she was Grammy Redfield! I can't believe you, Chris!"

"What the hell, Claire?!"

"You had an opportunity to step outside the stuffy Superhero-Chris-Redfield leotard for a few nights, and treat Jill as if she was a desirable, attractive woman, and you acted as though she was some octogenarian with twisted fingers and old lady smell that stuck to the two dollar bills she'd send you on your birthday! You _should have_ been _furiously_ making out with her in the hallway!"

Chris couldn't believe his ears at this point, and was getting angry. "The only opportunity that was present was to bring terrorists to justice, Claire!"

"Sure, okay, Chris," she returned with a fair amount of incredulity. "You don't think those terrorists found it weird that the honeymoon suite next door was awfully quiet?"

"They weren't next door. We were doing surveillance from across the street."

His sister heaved a huge sigh. "Would you have if you had to?"

The pause from Chris was even longer this time, and he blinked at least once in an attempt to keep the confusion from blurring his vision. ". . . What do you mean 'if we had to'? Do _what_ exactly if we had to?"

"What if the terrorists had caught you, didn't believe you were a couple on their honeymoon, and for the sake of the hostage –"

"It wasn't a hostage situation."

"Whatever!" she exclaimed with exasperation. "What if they didn't believe you –" Claire stood from her desk, shaped her hand like a gun, and shoved the "mouth of the barrel" up against her brother's forehead "- and they shoved a gun to Jill's head and yelled, 'We'll plug her if you don't stick your tongue in her mouth and grab her ass!'?"

"I hate it when you dye your hair red!" Chris exclaimed as he shoved her hand away. "You go fucking loony tunes on me!"

"I'm just saying, Chris," she said more calmly as she sat back down at her desk. "Would you do it if you had to?"

"That only happens in movies, Claire."

"So you wouldn't. You'd let them kill Jill."

"No!" he growled. "We'd both be prepared to do what's necessary."

"So you would then? You'd make out with her to convince the terrorists and let her live."

"Yes!"

"What if that wasn't enough to convince them? What if they asked you to make love to her?"

Chris dropped his head to the desk and covered his head with his hands. "They wouldn't call it 'making love'. They're _terrorists_."

"That's just semantics. You're dodging the question."

"I just told you; we both would do what was necessary for the mission," he stated through clenched teeth.

"So you'd tear her clothes off and get it on with Jill Valentine, if you had to?"

Chris bolted upright from the desk. "I have bruises on my forearms and loose change all over my kitchen because you thought I slept with her last week, and now you're asking me _this_ question?"

"I'd had a rough night. And taking advantage of someone is one thing. There's a time and a place for things, Chris."

"As in, terrorists threatening to kill her if I don't screw her silly?"

"Yeah, something like that."

"I can't believe you, Claire. . . I _told_ mom and dad you were retarded when they brought you home."

"You're acting like it would be an unpleasant experience," said Claire ignoring her brother's last remark.

"Having terrorists threaten to _kill your partner_ if you don't have sex with her would definitely not be my idea of a good time," he spat.

"Maybe not a good time, but what about a good excuse?"

"_Claire_!" Now, Chris really couldn't believe his little sister. This was becoming way too much. "How the hell does any of this relate to my problem?"

"It relates, " she began rather slowly as she was stalling for time, "because. . . . Never mind, Chris. You're too thick to understand."

"What?"

"But my point is," she began again so she wouldn't have to try to explain her previous interrogation, "Jill is an intelligent, sensitive woman, who has a history from childhood of not having a positive model of what it's like having a relationship with a man. Has she ever mentioned her mother's johns trying to make a pass at her, or anything like that?"

Chris thought for a moment, relieved to have the topic of the conversation switch to something a lot less personally invasive. "Well, yeah, kind of. But it never went further than that because she ran away from home once that started."

"Okay," said Claire, "so she begins with no father-figure, and the only men in her young life are losers that come and go – no pun intended – and then once she gets old enough, or at least her body develops enough, she has those losers hitting on her or offering her money for the services her mother provides. How do you think that would impact a girl who is sensitive and smart? She was smart enough to run away, at least, but what can she do to rectify the images her mother gave her, and what society says a positive relationship with a man _should_ be like?"

Chris' brows were furrowed and he was chewing on the inside of his bottom lip in thought. He was following his sister's reasoning, but still wasn't sure how all this related to the current situation.

She continued: "So, luckily she was able to get away from that negative life of her mother, do much better for herself, and in the process, develop a very positive relationship with you, a man, that has a very solid foundation in mutual trust and respect, not to mention love, since after all, you are best friends as well as partners. However, the love in the relationship is chaste, which is good in some ways, but bad in others because she'll never be able to completely fix the damage done by her mother, as long as it remains so."

Chris groaned and placed his head on the desk again. ". . . So you're saying, I should have slept with her on that mission?"

"I don't know. I guess. It could have helped her."

Chris bolted upright again. "That's ridiculous! It wasn't even set up that way! Besides, we're on the job!"

"So you _would_ sleep with her if the opportunity presented itself?"

"God help me," groaned Chris as he dropped his head on the desk once more. He was feeling vile again. This conversation not only didn't help him figure out what was wrong with Jill, but it was also completely counter productive to his work in repressing his full feelings for her.

"It's a yes or no question, Chris."

Redfield brought his head up and rubbed his eyes before he wiped his brow. He still didn't answer and was trying very hard to forget the whole conversation while still in the midst of it.

"What's wrong?"

"I'm . . . sweating like a whore in church," he said. "I've gotta go, Claire, and you haven't been any help at all." He got up and started to leave.

"So what are you going to do about Jill?"

Chris grabbed the doorknob. "Well, I guess I'll have to figure that out on my own now, don't I? Whatever it is, I'm not going to sleep with her."

"Why not?"

"Dammit, Claire!" Chris growled one last time. "Dye your hair back!" And he accentuated his leaving with a slam of the door.

When Chris Redfield returned to the apartment, he was actually relieved that Valentine was nowhere to be seen. After the whole debacle that was the conversation with Claire, he didn't think he could look her in the eye. It might have even pushed back all the progress he'd thought he had made a few years since his sister had pushed him into admitting things in the open much further than he ever could have been ready for, and now he had to repair all the damage that had been done. Without having an outlet for his angst, Redfield went into his bedroom, and slammed a sidelong fist into the closet door with enough force to promptly break it free of it hinges.

Chris Redfield would barely see Jill Valentine for the next few days, and this time, he would do nothing to prevent it from being that way.

The following Sunday night was the date of the BSAA awards dinner for Chris Redfield and Sheva Alomar, and it found Jill Valentine staring forlornly at herself in the mirror in her bedroom. She was practically ready to go, and was waiting for her partner. She sighed deeply, partially in disagreement with her reflection, and partially from her mental reflection of her feelings and the events of the past week.

As for her physical reflection, she wished Claire hadn't been so insistent on getting the dress she was wearing now. Claire would hear nothing of letting Jill wear blue, and instead, talked her into getting one in scarlet red. Jill had also told her that she didn't want anything that displayed her chest and certainly no cleavage mostly because of the scarring left behind from the P-30 device. But Claire said that she couldn't make out what scarring Jill was referring to and, as a result of that, the scarlet red dress had a scoop neckline low enough to display a modest amount of cleavage that allowed for too much skin for Jill to feel comfortable. It was also quite backless except for the thin straps that went around her shoulders and criss-crossed over her back. At the top of where the back of the dress started again to form the skirt, it gathered to form a slight train. Because of how low the backline was, Jill was thankful for the lacy, black shawl she had gotten to place over herself.

Claire had also suggested how Jill should do her hair, which entailed pulling her bangs slightly from her face and holding them there with some small, sparkly barrettes, and then loosely gathering the rest of her hair to pull it back and place it up, holding it there with combs, decorated with red and white, small, satin roses.

Jill had felt that pulling her hair back and up would only accentuate how pale she was, and people would think about how sick she looked. But her companion only laughed slightly and reminded her that she had always been fair-skinned, and if there was still a difference from then to now, it was very slight.

. . . But then again, Jill Valentine wasn't too worried about how other people thought about the way she looked. She was more concerned about how someone in particular would think of the way she looked.

Suddenly, her partner's voice broke into her thoughts, as he was calling for her from his bedroom. Jill gathered herself as best she could and left her sanctuary.

When she came into Chris' room, he was struggling with his bowtie.

"Dammit! You think you could help me with this thing, Jill?"

"You must be nervous," she said coming closer to take over the project.

"I guess," was his only reply. Chris stood still while Jill pulled apart the mess he made, smoothed out the ends of the tie, and then began to assemble it properly. He tried not to look down at her, still frustrated at the onerous process of undoing the upheaval Claire had caused in his consciousness about Jill, but once he made the mistake of doing so, Chris found he couldn't keep his eyes away from her.

She apparently felt his gaze on her as she was trying to avoid looking at him, and out of habit met it for a split second before she caught herself and looked away. "Something wrong?"

"You look amazing."

Jill finished his bowtie. "Thanks," she replied simply. Although there was nothing more to be done, she reached up and smoothed out an insignificant wrinkle in his shirt over his collarbone. And again, she had to regain herself, but this time her malaise forgot to move out of the way of the fake cheerfulness and stood its ground. "Oh, . . . sorry." She pulled away and turned, leaving his room.

It took Chris a second to gather his bearings, for in watching her leave, he found that the back of Jill was every bit as lovely as the front, but once he did, he tried to stop her. "Hey, . . . Jill." But he was only in time to find her door closing, barricading her from him. Chris Redfield found he couldn't do this much longer. It had felt too right to let her come that close to him, like life-giving rain to parched soil. He started to come down the hall, not knowing what he was going to do, but needing to take action.

From the other side of her door, Jill heard his footsteps coming closer down the hallway. She couldn't let him come after her. "I'm just getting my shawl," she called through the door, putting on as much of a normal tone for her as she could muster. Her voice arrested him just as his hand reached the doorknob. There was a tense moment before she finally heard him softly say, "all right." She listened with relief to his footsteps retreating down the hallway and closed her eyes, feeling the familiar sting behind them and breathed deeply. It would take her longer to forget his compliment than she currently felt she had the strength to endure. She swallowed hard.

Chris was putting on his tuxedo jacket, when Jill emerged with her shawl wrapped around her shoulders. She quickly walked past him, smiling. "Ready to go, Chris?" she asked brightly. The strange opposition of her demeanor from what it was just moments before was not lost on him. He grabbed his keys and followed her out the door.

The drive to headquarters was done in silence. Jill swore she felt her partner look over at her a few times, but she made sure to keep her sights out the window. She forced herself to meditate on other things and refused to allow herself to speculate on her partner's thoughts especially during the times when he looked at her.

Entering the lavishly decorated reception hall was more daunting than Jill Valentine had thought it would be. Looking over the sea of faces she had left behind three years ago was as frightening as it was comforting. She prayed that no one would ask her how she was feeling or relate what had happened to her in the interim of the past three years. And yet, her experiences with being experimented on and controlled seemed so far away and insignificant to the turmoil she had been undergoing the past several days. Suddenly, and before she had time to react, she felt Chris take her hand and place it around his arm. She thought to pull away, but his hand held hers on his bicep; it was almost as though he knew she was thinking it.

"I'm afraid you might faint out of nowhere like you did last week," he said quietly in her ear.

Jill didn't respond, but his explanation felt more like an excuse. _You're not making this easy for me at all_, she thought. She looked back out into the tumultuous sea of agents and operatives, coworkers and comrades, familiar and unfamiliar alike. As overwhelming as it was, all Jill wanted to do was let go of Chris and disappear into the throng never to be seen by him. He had to deal with her "death" before; she promised herself that he could do it again. The right replacement partner was out there in this very large room, and she knew there'd be takers for the job that she felt she just couldn't do anymore because the denial of her true feelings was becoming much too painful.

"Chris!"

The excited voice of Sheva Alomar broke into both Chris and Jill's thoughts, and they turned their heads to see the West African branch's now premier agent coming toward them in an elegant dress that was a tasteful blend of tribal tradition and contemporary fashion. Sheva came over smiling and was closely being followed by Captain Josh Stone with a plate of hors d'oeuvres.

Chris allowed Jill to let go of his arm so he could fold Sheva in a friendly embrace and a tender pat on the back that nearly seemed to surprise her. "Hey, Sheva. How's it going?"

She shrugged and smiled. "All right, I guess. This isn't my first trip to the States. Always a pleasant trip."

Chris turned to Josh and shook his hand.

"Nice to see you again, Chris."

"Likewise."

Before Chris had a chance to step aside to let Jill come into full view, Sheva's exclamation intercepted any formal greetings.

"Jill! . . . I almost didn't recognize you!" Sheva placed a hand to her heart and nearly seemed like she was close to tears as though reflecting back on the first time she met Jill Valentine in the ruins just after freeing her from the P-30 device. "You're so pretty."

"Oh . . . thanks," the other replied, feeling complimented but self-conscious. Apparently the positive transformation of the past several weeks had been lost on her, but Sheva Alomar was quite aware of it. Jill turned to Sheva's companion, and greeted him with familiarity. "Hello, Josh."

But he could only stare. Sheva Alomar quickly shoved an elbow into his side to goad a reply, but the delay in response time made the elbow seem virtually ineffectual. "Hello, Ms. Valentine. You're looking well."

"I sure hope so," replied Chris, feeling Jill's self-consciousness. "I've been taking care of her recovery."

"Well, you're certainly . . . doing a good job," returned Captain Stone within clearing his throat.

"You know what?" Jill began, finding an escape plan. "I could use a drink. Why don't you guys catch up? I'll be back in a bit."

"Jill –"

"It's okay, Chris. What could happen to me here?" Before another word of protest could be issued, she was away, making a beeline for a large, crystal punch bowl somewhere in the distance.

She had nearly succeeded when she was physically seized by a large, hairy man with a deep voice. "Jill Valentine! Where are you off to in a hurry? Haven't time to say hello to old friends?"

"Barry!"

Agent Barry Burton laughed and gave Jill a tight hug. When he released her, Jill found the arms of Kathy Burton, his wife, wrapping around her in an almost motherly embrace.

"Did you get the flowers we sent you?"

"I did, yes. Thank you. They were beautiful."

"You look so much better," stated Kathy. "You really had everyone worried."

"Aw, screw that," continued Barry. "We're pretty damn happy you're alive!" He laughed. "Leave it to Chris to bring you back from the dead. I knew that boy was crazy when I met him, but I'm glad he is. Feel terrible that I told him to give it up though . . . ."

Kathy interjected to defend her husband to himself, "Yes, but he was in such a bad way when she disappeared. He was beside himself, and not trying to move forward at all." She turned to Jill. "We were afraid of what he was doing to himself, and no one believed, had you survived the fall, that Wesker would have let you live."

"I understand," replied Jill supportively. "I actually didn't expect to live especially during the experiments." Although she had meant her last statement to emphasize to the Burtons that she didn't hold any judgmental feelings towards them in regards to them giving up on the possibility of her living, Jill found that it seemed to disturb them further. Kathy placed an alarmed hand to her lips, as her eyes seemed to turn glassy with tears.

"I'm sorry," countered Jill quickly, placing a comforting hand on both of them. "I didn't mean . . . ."

"It's all right, Jill," stated Barry. "The whole situation was so upsetting no matter how you slice it. We're really happy to see you alive and well."

The other quickly thought to change the subject, feeling guilty now that she brought on such a depressing topic. "You know, Chris is over there someplace talking to Agent Alomar and Captain Stone. I know he'd be happy to see you two. I'll join up with all of you in a bit. I told Chris I was getting some punch, and if I'm not back within five minutes, he's liable to send out the Search and Recovery team after me."

Barry laughed a little again. "Keeping a good eye on you, is he?"

"On me like a shadow, but not nearly as quiet."

"Can't blame him. All right. We'll see you later, Jill." The Burtons moved onward, and Jill sighed in relief, and was thankful that for a few additional moments at least, Chris would be distracted by the arrival of Barry and his wife. She hoped she wouldn't be detained any further by anyone else until she made it to her destination, and luckily enough she wasn't. She was however, greeted at the punch bowl by Father Bailey, the BSAA's chaplain, who's job it was to anoint sick or wounded agents, pray with agents' families (for those who had them), say funerals for the fallen in duty, and other such jobs of the spiritual nature. He was a man in his fifties with a gentle Irish brogue that comforted souls when he spoke nearly as much as his words of wisdom and compassion did.

"My word. Jill Valentine! How are ya feelin' dees days?"

Jill ladled out her drink in a small, crystal cup that matched the bowl. "Evening, Father. I'm doing well."

"Well, ya certainly look much better dan when you came back from Africa, aldough, I admit t'was a bit o' shock ta da system . . . but not an upleasant one." He smiled broadly.

She returned the smile with genuine feeling. "I can imagine. Not to sound morbid, Father, but I'm sure most people you say funerals for don't come back."

"Ay, dey don't indeed - don't indeed. So how 'ave you been gettin' on?"

"Oh, well, after I was discharged, I moved in with Chris." She stopped there to take a sip, but then realized it was a terrible place to pause with the present company for the unintended implication. "I don't mean in _that_ way, Father!"

Father Bailey only laughed heartily. "Not to worry, lass. I didna t'ink so! An' even eff ya had, it wouldna been da worst t'ing. Not to misunderstand; Holy Mother Church still frowns on such t'ings, however, t'is only to protect, not to condemn, and dat boyo loves ya deep, Jill Valentine. For sure'n, t'was his heart dat broke ta hardest ev'n dough he believed ya ta be alive."

The serpentine writhing of Jill's hidden feelings started anew at the priest's words. She swallowed hard, having wished he hadn't said what he had. It was unlike Father Bailey to say insensitive things, and she had to remind herself that the intention had been nothing remotely related to anything negative. Without knowing her internal struggle, he innocently said the completely wrong thing. Unfortunately, when priests were supposed to bring comfort and hope for those undergoing seemingly insurmountable trials, he had only given strength to her demons.

"Thank you, Father," she said quietly with a weak smile.

When Jill returned to her partner's side, she hardly said a word, and was thankful that the Burtons as well as Sheva, Josh Stone, and a handful of other members of the BSAA in passing kept him distracted from her.

At dinner, Chris and Sheva were awarded, and asked to give acceptance speeches. Alomar gave a moving one about dedicating her efforts to all the fallen victims of pharmaceutical experiments - agents and civilians alike. Chris' speech was shorter, having done these things more times than Sheva had, and reflected on the high value of justice and protecting the innocent. They both may have stopped a cataclysm from happening, he said, however, constant vigilance was a price they all would have to pay until biological terror became a thing of the past. It was a fairly darker speech, but the wisdom and experience Chris Redfield had gained in over ten years of his work echoed loud and clear and inspired many agents that night.

Chris and Sheva returned to their seats. Team captains, as well as the director of the BSAA, made a few more speeches. Much applause was to be heard for a great deal of the night, and afterward everyone was free again for discussions amongst themselves and to offer congratulations. As soon as Jill Valentine found an opening, and her partner was distracted again, she slipped away and went outside in the cooler night air.

There was an area outside of the reception hall that was wooded, and at one time looked as though someone was trying to make plans for it as a place where agents could take a lunch on a warm, spring day. She found an ornate steel bench that was far enough away from the hall and deep enough into the darkness of night, where she felt totally alone with her thoughts.

Jill liked plans and hated indecision. That was another reason why Chris had been such a good partner all these years; when she couldn't decide what the best course of action was, Chris' impulsiveness and courage refused to let them remain inactive. But then again, she wondered if she should try to get used to operating without it. Staying and leaving were nearly equally painful prospects. Jill began to question that if Chris Redfield was in her situation, what wonderfully impulsive act of insane courage would he perform to get himself out of this? Before she could find an answer, Jill reminded herself that he would never be in a situation like this while _she_ remained his partner. She sighed.

"Damn, I thought they'd never shut up."

Jill looked up to find Chris coming around the bench to sit beside her. Although she was wearing her shawl, he took off his tuxedo jacket and placed it around her shoulders. "You're going to catch a cold out here."

"It's not so bad," she said. "It was kind of hot in there."

"You're telling me. Definitely a lot of hot air blowing around."

"Oh, come on, Chris. You've got to allow people to express a little gratitude for you saving the world."

"I know," he said quietly. "But you were the one who talked me into it."

She smiled and slightly scoffed. "What do you mean by that?"

"Don't you remember? It was right after Sheva and I pulled that thing off your chest. You told me to go after Wesker 'cause I was the only one who could stop him. Millions would die, you said."

"Well, they would have, Hero." She couldn't help it but tease him out of habit despite her tumultuous feelings.

"I know. You're right." Chris sat hunched forward with his elbows on his knees and could only stare at his hands folded in front of him. He was silent for a second with contemplation. "You want to know something crazy?"

"Of course. I'm used to you saying crazy things by now."

"I wasn't thinking about those millions, Jill. . . . I was thinking about you."

She bit her lips and held back her own emotions, not allowing them to influence her into erroneous thinking. "I know," she said. "But you left anyway, and you saved the world, like I knew you would."

"It wasn't that simple though," Chris' tone was heavy with seriousness. "Leaving you there after three years of searching for you, knowing what Wesker had done to you, was one of the hardest things I've ever had to do."

"You – " Jill Valentine found herself nearly choking on her words. "You shouldn't even be thinking about it. It's all over."

"But it's not over, Jill!" he quietly exclaimed, turning his head to look at her. "Something's changed between you and me . . . ever since we came home."

The intensity and the energy was something she felt she couldn't handle right now. Heightened states of emotion lead people to all kinds of terrible admissions. All Chris had to do was say the wrong thing in the right way, and she was liable to confess everything she couldn't take back only to have him feeling surprised and sorry for her, apologizing for saying it wrong and not returning her sentiments. Jill turned away and got up from the bench. "Well, . . . it's going to take me some time to fully recover. Until then, I'm bound to say or do a lot of strange things." She took off his jacket and laid it beside him on the bench.

There was something about that small, nearly indiscernible act of rejection that gave Chris the motivation to argue. "No, that's not it. It's something else, . . . and I think I know what it is."

Jill held her breath and prepared her denial just in case. "What?"

He stood from the bench but kept his sight to the ground. It took him a few moments to respond. ". . . Do you regret saving me?"

The question hit and disturbed her like a boulder to shallow water. "Regret? Chris, how can you ask that?"

"I just did - now answer me, Jill!" he quickly responded, turning his head toward her. Even in the darkness she saw the pain and anxiety in his eyes. He had to ask the question quickly otherwise he'd have lost his nerve. He needed to rip off the bandage as fast as he could - to not linger in pain with the tearing of the flimsy scab from the gaping wound underneath.

She felt terrible for needing to find the words to say for even a second letting him wallow in that pain she knew was tormenting him. "I don't regret it all! How could I?"

"He tortured you because of it."

"I . . . know, but you're not at fault for that, Chris," she said coming around to be near him so she could make eye contact and force him to see her sincerity.

"Really?" he rejoined with caustic disbelief. "If I hadn't been reckless –"

"Chris! Stop it! Stop blaming yourself! . . . We both know the job; we know the risks." She reached out to touch his arm. "Since when have we had the agreement that you're always to be in harms way protecting me? We look out for _each other_. That's what partners do."

Chris sighed deeply and looked down again. "I got you back. That probably won't happen again."

"So what are you going to do? Keep me away from windows from now on? Lock me up so we can't even be partners anymore?" Chris still refused to meet her eyes, until she reached up and touched his chin to lift up his face. "Hey. Look at me, you big ox. . . . The only thing I have to be angry with you about is coming after me."

"I had to."

"Yeah, well, I never _ever_ would have forgiven you if I ended up killing you under his control." She moved her hand to touch his cheek and spoke softly. "We're okay, Redfield." She slowly removed her hand, and turned to walk back to the reception hall, but before she got very far, Chris' voice arrested her.

"If we're okay, then why do you keep avoiding me?"

"Oh . . . ah. . . ." Jill brought her folded hands to her lips for a second, took a breath to stall for time, and then brought them down. It was her turn to not look at him. "It was just something Claire was talking about."

"Claire?"

"Yeah. . . . She was talking about how things might change after Wesker."

"In what way?"

"About your life becoming more normal. She mentioned wanting to find you a girlfriend."

Chris scoffed. "For one thing, don't ever listen to her; she's insane. And for another, what does that have to do with you avoiding me?"

Jill took another deep breath and turned back toward him. She didn't have to tell him the whole truth – just enough of it. "Well, I kinda realized how much I like living with you. . . . And I had to think about how it would all change if you met somebody and decided to have that more normal life."

Chris gave a genuine but lopsided smile that Jill identified as the one he gave when he was truly affected by something. "I like you living with me too." He reached out and took her hand. "I don't want that to change. Besides, who takes care of me as well as you, and where do you think you could go without me following? I frickin' chased you across the damn world."

"But it could," she replied, nearly afraid of saying too much through her fear. "We know too well how nothing's for certain."

Chris didn't respond for a moment, but kept her hand in his. Fear was an emotion he didn't befriend frequently except in this case. However, with her standing before him, yet creating a wall between them that felt as thick as the distance between him and Africa, Chris needed it to end for good. If she persisted in adding more layers to distance them, then what benefit to him was its protection? If he had to pay for it in losing her, the cost was simply too great. "Well . . . you know," he began, ". . . there's a man in that reception hall that can make it so that it is for certain . . . . "

Probably because they had been partners for so long, even as vague as his request was, she still understood it clearly, and for a moment, she dared not believe it, until Jill realized, that while they stood at the brink of another difficult situation, her partner's impulsiveness and a moment of insane courage would save them again. But she had to ask, just so she didn't place faith in a false hope.

"You don't mean –"

He nodded quite seriously.

She looked away, slightly flustered, or at best incredulous. But Chris knew that it wasn't a refusal, and she didn't pull away.

"Jill, we're partners in practically every other sense of the word. We've known each other long enough; we're together all the time anyway. When you think about it like that, it makes it just an inevitable formality." True, the words weren't so poetic as to be found in the dialogue of a corny Lifetime movie, but they still were what they were, and Chris Redfield wholly meant every insinuation to their intent. His tone became soft. "What do you say, Valentine?"

She looked up at him. "You're completely insane, Redfield," she said matching his tone, yet still hiding her most tender emotions well. "But you're probably right; who the hell could put up with you better than I can?"

He answered her with that familiar lopsided smile that seemed to be the best mask he had to hide his most heartfelt of unspeakable sentiments. While he still held her by the hand, Chris led Jill from the chill nighttime air and back toward the warm light of the reception hall.

When they returned to the apartment, Jill could sense a feeling of calm had replaced the crackle of tension in the air. To her, it finally felt like the closest she'd been to home in a very long time. Order had exorcised the demon of tumultuous Chaos in her being, however, there was a void left in its wake for something she actually could identify, but would be much easier to ignore from now on. Something was incomplete, but at least for now, she could feel like herself. She was almost talkative on the ride home, and even entering the apartment. She talked at her partner even as she was walking down the hallway to her room with the intent to put on her pajamas. She only succeeded in taking her shoes off when she thought to ask Chris if he would like her to make some coffee as she wasn't feeling ready to turn in just yet. She was all too happy to be able to feel some semblance of peace again.

When she came to her partner's room, the door was open, and she found Chris standing in the dark in front of his window. Like her, he had stripped himself of excessive clothing to be more comfortable with is bowtie and jacket flung unceremoniously on a nearby chair; his collar was unbuttoned, shirt untucked, and his sleeves rolled up to his elbows in an unsuccessful attempt to free some of his muscles from the confines of the formal wear. He was silently staring through the blinds as the soft illumination of moonlight flowed back onto him and the floor. It wasn't as though he couldn't be contemplative, but seeing him alone in the darkness allowed Jill to realize how little he had said anything since they left headquarters.

"Hey, Chris?"

"Yeah?" He didn't turn around.

"I was thinking about making some coffee. Would you like some?"

He answered her absently again. "Sure."

Jill placed her arms around herself and quietly came into the room. "You okay?" She walked up beside him.

Chris blinked, but kept his sights to the scenery outside. "Yeah," he finally said. "I was just thinking."

"About?"

"I don't know. Everything. . . . I guess sometimes, I just find myself wondering what makes people like Spencer, like Wesker tick. . . . That why. Why they do the shit they do. I mean, if Father Bailey's right, and the one thing that everyone wants from the time they're born 'til the time they die is to love and be loved, then what the hell mis-wired people like them? I mean, how do you just not form attachments to anyone?

"He used to be Captain Wesker. He was someone who knew us well, and we all respected and liked working for him, but in the meantime, all that meant nothing to him. He was just training us to test the effectiveness of his weapons. He at least was able to act like he cared. . . but that's all it was.

"He was the first person whose authority I respected. He taught me things – made me a better soldier, a better person even. I watched him give guys time off for family emergencies, saying that family was important. And it all really meant nothing to him. " He sighed. "I can't figure it out. . . ."

Chris continued his verbal meditation. "I was nearly going crazy trying to find you, but there he was manipulating Excella Gionne into whatever he wanted. I guess you could say she was a selfish bitch who ultimately got what was coming to her, but from everything I saw, I can't help but believe that she truly loved him in whatever form she understood love to be. . . and he just threw her life away when he was done with her."

"I know," said Jill soberly as she brought her arms down from around herself. "I sometimes used to find myself feeling sorry for him, especially after finding out how he was an experiment himself, and how lonely that must have been – how he probably was never loved his entire life, but then, whenever I actually looked into his eyes, it was impossible to feel any compassion for him 'cause all that was there was something dark – something inhuman."

"And the crazier thing is," Chris rejoined, "whereas you might be able to understand how Wesker got that way, Spencer definitely was human, and Spencer probably had a family that loved him at one time, and yet he was a monster making monsters."

Jill moved closer to her partner, as she suddenly began to feel very detached and isolated while reflecting on the natures and origins of Ozwell Spencer and Albert Wesker as though the pure reflection was enough to summon their powerful ghosts back into existence to continue to haunt with havoc, perverting the hearts and minds of the weak into reincarnating into them. Moving closer to Chris, being nearer to his strength of virtue and self-sacrificial sense of justice that made him more human than human in order to fight the monsters, was able to stave off some of the feelings of imminent desolation.

"I don't know," said Chris after a moment had passed. "I guess I'll never figure it out. You start off thinking you know and can trust someone who's like a father-figure or an older brother one day, and then find yourself years later getting an award for killing him. It's enough to make you go crazy if you let it."

"Yeah," agreed Jill trying not to think on her distorted memories of the torturous experimentation she had to endure for three years that were ultimately based on a man's inability to form human attachments. She touched a curious piece of electrical tape that was wrapped around the base of her left hand's ring finger as a temporary stand-in. Chris had a matching one. "Thinking about it makes me all the more relieved that after what we did tonight, regardless of what happens, in some capacity, you'll always be with me now."

Chris' warm hand found hers in the darkness and held it with a gentle firmness. He finally turned his head to look at her. The faraway look of reminiscence left his eyes as he fully returned to be in her presence, a much nicer, more preferable place than the company of the memory of madmen, and a place where, in some measure, he never truly left after finding it the first time. He tenderly smiled. His eyes tried to tell her that she could stop being afraid with the hope that she would tell him the same. "I'm always with you anyway, Jill. I have been longer than you know."

She felt his thumb begin to affectionately stroke the back of her hand. His words weren't lost to her, but after so long in the familiar company of her denial, she couldn't trust strange hope. "That's the second time you've said that to me," she finally replied, hiding her true feelings behind a defensively flirtatious smile. The first time was in the kitchen when he was comforting her. Somehow, the intimate feelings from that day that had been created by their physical closeness was suddenly present again, delicately inviting them to explore what that moment had presented, gingerly suggesting a little faith and courage would unveil something new and magical, but fear would have to be set aside first.

"I know," he softly replied, coming much closer, and praying she wouldn't back away. If she did in this crucial moment, like she had so many times in the recent weeks, he felt he could never bring himself to try again. "But I don't think you understood me the first time." Chris knew he had to break through her defensive, flirtatious mask somehow, find the true Jill Valentine, and persuade her into taking everything that he was. She had already accepted most of him, but one more part remained. He pulled her into himself, wrapping his arms around her, and bringing his face into her hair, hoping that she would understand.

Jill released an uneasy sigh, unsure of the offered invitation. Memories of them together began replaying themselves in her mind, searching for evidence of blatant rejection with no cause other than her. It was difficult to find any as the evidence of total acceptance from him kept mounting, and his closeness was becoming much harder to ignore. Jill brought her arms around his broad shoulders, not wanting the closeness to stop, but not fully trusting in it either. He showed no intention of letting go. She tried to dismiss the influence of his quickening heartbeat on her own as she felt his heart pounding in his chest and the warmth of his breath increasing in its rate upon her neck. It was easy to read the excitement in his body that hers had caused upon their touching. His embrace felt wonderful, but she still doubted the unspoken reasons as to why she had this effect on him. "Easy Redfield," she whispered. "A girl could get used to this."

Chris could tell by her tone that she wanted to open up to him, but something within was fighting it. He moved his arms to press her more firmly into himself, allowing his hands to find the small of her back and a comfortable place below her shoulder blade, ever so slightly sliding underneath the edges of her dress, warming the exposed skin where they touched. "If that girl is Jill Valentine," came his tender reply, "I hope she lets me help her get used to it."

Memories stung her eyes with their visions of the past that withheld too many accounts of Chris exhibiting a concern for her that began to paint a different context for his actions much more beyond mere work compatriots. But something within her wouldn't let her have it just yet. It was too easy. It didn't seem to require any sacrifice or unkind awakenings to reality on her part. It wasn't going to involve pain, and perhaps even more so than Chris' feelings, that was the hardest part to believe.

"Even when you asked me earlier, I didn't think you meant this."

"Been fighting the want to tell you for years, Valentine. I couldn't find a way without risking losing everything between us until tonight. Push me away now, I promise I won't mention this again."

With his last words of confirmation that mirrored her own sentiments, she was ready to let go of her unsubstantiated fears. "I can't. It sounds too familiar." A single tear fell onto her cheek, not one of a sadness, but one that marked the beginning of the last the piece to her healing – the piece she thought never could be.

Chris lifted his face from her hair to look into her eyes. He gently touched her face, not just to incline it toward his, but also to wipe away the single tear. Little did she realize, that while he was helping her heal, she in turn would heal him as well. She closed her eyes and felt his warm lips softly caress hers. She couldn't help but reciprocate the sentiment and then some, pulling him even closer to herself.

Fear found it had no place here, and gave way to a force that adamantly refused to be ignored any longer. Passionate honesty overtook them. This time there would be no interruptions in the passing of what was meant to be.

Chris Redfield's cell phone clattered across the top of his nightstand with all the urgent annoyance that a ring from a phone call from his sister could possibly manage in an insentient piece of technology at ten o'clock in the morning.

In spite of the fact that the ringer had been turned off the night before, and the vibration setting on, the groan that escaped Chris' throat seemed to indicate that he knew exactly who was calling. He rolled over in bed, and answered it.

"Morning, Claire," he grumbled. Chris wouldn't have needed to keep the phone close to his ear to clearly hear his sister's interrogation of the previous night. Her voice had an uncanny way of coming through the receiver in a very loud manner from a mere cell phone. "It was fine," he answered. She interrogated him some more. "Good." But his answer wasn't enough; she wanted details. "What do you want me to say, Claire?" his annoyance was evident in his voice. His sister perceived something to be a little amiss and mentioned it. "Yeah, well, Jill and I got in kinda late," he stated rubbing the sleep from his eyes with his free hand. More questions followed. "Yeah, you could say that," he replied. Claire adopted a modicum of understanding and offered an alternative. "Okay, fine. I'll talk to you later. . . . Yeah, love you too." Chris ended the call and placed the phone back onto the nightstand. He sighed, and contentedly rolled over into his previous position and put his arm back around Jill.

"You didn't tell her, did you?" she asked with her eyes closed.

"Hell no. If I had, she'd be over here right now, and I don't want to get out of bed yet." He squeezed her gently.

Jill opened her eyes and resisted a smile. "She must have found it weird that you were still in bed."

"Told her we got in late."

"Not really," she quickly countered.

Chris opened his eyes. "Well, we got in bed late."

"Not really," she replied, biting her lip to suppress a small laugh.

"Okay," replied Chris sitting up slightly as he leaned over his partner but keeping his hand on her hip. "So not a whole lot of sleeping was being done, but she doesn't need to know that."

"Of course not," stated Jill closing her eyes, pretending to go back to sleep.

But Chris didn't want her go anywhere just then where he couldn't follow, and employed a tactic to bring her attention back to him. ". . . I'd rather keep that wild side of yours between you and me."

Jill quickly opened her eyes, but then after regained her cool composure, recognizing the bait. "Whatever you say, Redfield. You pretty much assailed me like a raving Crimson Head."

"Oh, I did, did I?" he replied with mild sarcasm.

"Yep."

"Well, I apologize, Valentine, however I don't know what you thought I expected when I taped that ring on your finger, but let me tell you, when I was thinking 'missionary', I definitely didn't mean for us to be evangelizing in third world countries."

Jill blushed profusely. "Oh geez, Chris." She covered her face with the bed sheet as a wicked smile crept onto her partner's face. Suddenly, she was struck with an epiphany. Jill whipped back the sheet and turned to face her instigator. "Don't tell me you actually thought of this happening _before_ last night?"

Chris looked at her steadily for a moment before he answered. "I plead the fifth."

"Chris Redfield!"

"Hey, speaking of last names," he returned, coolly changing the subject, "what are you doing about yours?"

And Jill let him change the subject, knowing that should they continue down the path this conversation had been going, she might have to admit to something pleasantly dangerous about her own cogitations that he didn't need to know just yet. Even in the wake of the ardent throes of last night, in the morning sunlight, Jill was feeling shy as it was unlike her to let go so much. Although Chris couldn't have been any more elated that she had, her own self-consciousness was creeping up on her, making up for its absence last night.

"I haven't decided yet. Does it matter? Maybe I should hyphen it."

"Jill Valentine-Redfield?" Chris grimaced. "You really want to sign checks with that?"

"Well, I don't know! Why do you ask? Would it upset you if I don't take your name?"

Chris shrugged. "I'm not going to tell you take my name. But I have to know before we get some real rings, which will hopefully be soon 'cause I don't know about you, but mine's beginning to itch."

"Why do you have to know before we get the rings?"

"So I know what size rock to put on your finger."

"I wouldn't have you get me an engagement ring too. We were only engaged for like twenty minutes."

"That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard, Valentine."

"I don't need some big rock on my finger."

"You don't have a choice." Chris was on one of his stubborn bends. "Just tell me what name you're taking before we go."

"What difference does it make?"

"Because," stressed Chris, "if you don't take my name, then I have to get you something big enough that can be seen from space."

"Now that's just silly."

"Hey. Those are the rules in the Redfield household, which you are now a part of, and you can't escape it."

Jill sighed. "I guess, I have to take your name, then."

"That's up to you," he replied nonchalantly.

"Just a big show of ownership one way or the other," she said under her breath, looking away. She couldn't let him know, but she was intentionally trying to make him lose his composure for the fun of seeing it.

"Whoa. Whoa. Hang on a minute. Okay, fine. That's the way you want it, Valentine? I get it; if the queen's not happy, the king's not happy. You keep your name, I don't get you an engagement ring, . . . and then every man that looks at you sideways, I just deck in the teeth. That's fine."

"Chris! I can't have you decking people in the teeth!"

"Sorry. Them's the rules in the Redfield household. It's in the books."

"Oh geez." Jill turned away and leaned over to grab a couple key articles of clothing from the floor.

She was just putting on his undershirt when Chris figured it out. "Hey, you leaving?"

"I have some things to do before I see Dr. Rosenthal."

"But I think you need to stay here for a bit."

"Why?"

"Because I'm here." It was a factual statement easily proven.

But there was a certain glint in Chris Redfield's eye that Jill just couldn't risk its nature. "It's too dangerous for me to stay here." She got up from the bed just as Chris deftly grabbed her hand and pulled her back onto the bed across his lap. She squeaked in surprise. "Chris!"

But it was about time for him to wreak some revenge for all the years she had tortured him. He set his fingers to the task of dismantling her tickle defenses this time. Receiving a taste of her own medicine, Jill Valentine laughed and squirmed in that same strange amalgam of pleasure and pain she had inflicted on him so many times. "Don't! Stop!" she gasped.

"Okay. I won't," replied Chris obligingly.

Jill was left to laugh and struggle against his advances. She rolled over in the attempt of anticipating one of the attacks, but Chris caught her off guard again as he had taken first-hand lessons from the Master of Unlocking Tickle Defenses. But Jill became aggressive and spotted an opening to Chris' vulnerable ribcage, and launched her own counterattack.

"Dammit!" he hollered. He knew now it was only a matter of time before he would lose to the Master. And he was right. In a few short moments, Jill had tickled him into submission. He tried to sink into the covers, but she was on top, straddling him in the optimal tickling position. She grabbed his wrists and pinned them down to keep him from retaliating.

"Ha! Gotcha, Redfield!"

But she needn't have bothered. Chris hadn't any desire to retaliate in this current situation. "I give up." The mischievous gleam in his eye returned, and Jill realized that it had been too easy. Her partner knew all too well that when it came to tickling, she could out-gun Chris any day. The whole thing had been a set-up. No sooner did she figure it out, when he swiftly wrenched his wrists away from her grasp and reached out to grab her. He quickly rolled over and wrapped his arms around her. There was no escape this time.

"Oh no," he said, not even bothering to remotely feign innocence. "Look what happened."

"Let me go."

But he apparently thought kissing her neck was a better idea.

"Chris," she voiced in protest, but she failed to fight him for he was too persuasive. She thought just a few minutes of this couldn't hurt, until his hands got another idea, which made Jill realize how much pleasurable peril she truly was in. "Hey!" She slapped his hand away. "All right, get off me, you Clydesdale! Get off. Shoo." She pushed on him, and he relented.

Chris watched her pull herself away from his embrace and get off the bed. "Oh, I see how you are. Playing 'hard to get' after we get married."

She pretended to ignore him and began to walk out of the bedroom.

"I like it better that way!" he called after her. "Keeps things interesting, Valentine!" But there was no return retort. Chris leaned back on the pillows again and smiled to himself. He was certain that he was going to like being married.

Jill had every intention of going to her appointment alone, but Chris insisted on driving her there. He'd have gone into the examination room if she had let him, but Jill thought this would seem suspicious, and she didn't want word around the BSAA just yet. There was a proper time, place, and way of going about such things, and she thought they should prioritize on who would know when. Although Chris thought it was silly, Jill insisted that Claire should know before the BSAA did. There was nothing to worry about with Father Bailey, who respected their privacy, and said he'd treat it like a confession and tell no one. Sheva Alomar, Josh Stone, and the Burtons who played as witnesses were sworn to secrecy, not to mention that Alomar and Stone would be back in Africa again shortly. Jill felt that was enough people ahead of Chris' sister already, and that was only because of necessity. Chris just said that Claire would get over any offense taken; he really didn't care, but was pleased with the idea of everyone leaving them alone for a while anyway.

Regardless, it didn't take Chris nearly coming into the examination room to perplex Dr. Hershel Rosenthal. As Jill lay on the table, he looked over the test results.

"That's funny," he said.

"Something wrong?" She sat up and swung her legs over the edge.

"No – no. Nothing's wrong." He looked at her over his horn-rimmed spectacles, and then back at the readout. "I guess I just didn't expect this."

"Expect what?"

"I noticed last night that you still looked fairly pale and a little weak. But the tests say you're perfectly fine. Better in fact. And today, your color is good, your eyes are bright. I just wouldn't have expected such a change overnight, but here it is."

Jill felt she should say something, and the best she could do was, "Chris has been taking good care of me."

"I'm sure he has," replied the doctor. "The only things out of sorts are those strange marks on your neck."

"I don't know how those got there," she lied and hoped she wasn't blushing.

"Can you think of any way they might have?"

"Not really," she lied again. "Probably some time between last night and this morning." Jill bit her lip.

"Do they hurt?"

She shook her head.

"Well, keep an eye on them then. Call me if anything changes."

"Okay." She swallowed.

"Go ahead and get dressed, then I'll let your partner in."

Jill jumped off the table and went for her clothes, trying not to think how little it mattered at this point whether Chris was there while she was changing from the examination gown or not.

When Dr. Rosenthal came back, Redfield accompanied him. Chris stood next to Jill and the doctor closed the door.

"So what's the word, doc?"

"Seems Jill is just fine. I couldn't find any evidence of P-30 in her system and everything's actually better than her normal numbers."

"Oh great," said Chris.

"The only things that might be a concern are some marks on her neck."

Chris looked confused and almost alarmed for Jill's health. "What marks?" He pulled her hair back and she presented her neck to him so he could see. "Oh. Oh yeah. I see them now." He completely stopped being alarmed. "We'll have to keep an eye on that, won't we, Jill?"

"Just be aware if any more develop," said Dr. Rosenthal. "On her neck or anywhere else on her body."

"Well, that's a distinct possibility."

Jill shot Chris a warning look, but Rosenthal was still oblivious.

"Near as I can tell," began the doctor, "as long as Jill feels up to it, she can return to work next week. Technically speaking, she could return tomorrow, but I'd like to give it a little more time just to be on the safe side."

"Sounds good," said Chris.

"In the meantime," continued Rosenthal, "keep doing what you're doing, or keep doing whatever it was you did last night because it's working."

"Just following your prescription, doc," returned Chris, as he got the door for Jill. "I'll make sure she gets her injection everyday." Jill hid her face and quickly went out the door. But Dr. Rosenthal stopped Chris before he managed to leave.

"Do you need more medicine for her?" he asked pulling out his pad.

"Oh no. I got plenty left. Take care, doc." And Chris Redfield left, closing the door behind him.

Dr. Rosenthal thought for a moment. "Injection," he stated quietly, thinking it odd. He was glad that his medical advice had been perfectly appropriate for Agent Valentine's recovery, but he realized that he couldn't remember what he had prescribed. Curious, he walked over to the filing cabinet and pulled out her chart. He flipped over the pages to the most recent prescription slip copy, and read it. It didn't make any more sense until he looked up from the file and happened to catch the sight of his patient and her partner through his window that overlooked the parking lot. They were holding hands, and he witnessed Chris Redfield lean in toward Jill Valentine to give her a kiss, which she happily received with her lips.

Dr. Rosenthal closed the chart, realizing now how Agent Redfield had followed the prescription to the letter. He couldn't help but smile.

87


End file.
